I 


FREDERICA 


THE 

RISING  TIDE 


BY 


MARGARET  DELAND 

AUTHOR  OF 

The  Iron  Woman,  Dr.  Lavendar's  People 

ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

F.  WALTER  TAYLOR 


"No  doubt  tut  ye  are  the  people, 

and  vnsdotn  shall  die  ifitk  you." 

Job  xii.  2 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


BOOKS  BY 
MARGARET  DELAND 

THE    RISING    TIDE.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 

AROUND   OLD    CHESTER.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 

THE   HANDS   OF   ESAU.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 

OLD   CHESTER   TALES.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 

AN   ENCORE.     Illustrated.     8vo 

DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 

GOOD   FOR   THE   SOUL.     16mo 

THE  AWAKENING  OF  HELENA  RICHIE 

Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
PARTNERS.     Illustrated.     Crown  8vo 
R.   J.'S    MOTHER.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   COMMON   WAY.     16mo 
THE      IRON   WOMAN.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   VOICE.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
THE   WAY   TO   PEACE.     Illustrated.     8vo 
WHERE  THE  LABORERS  ARE  FEW.     Ill'd.     8vo 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


THE  RISING  TIDE 


Copyright,   1915,  1916,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 
Published  August,  1916 

H-Q 


TO 
LO  R  I  N     DELANO 


AUGUST  12.   1918 


345299 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


...............         Frontispiece 

"LET  ME  EXPLAIN  IT,"  FREDERICA'S  MAN  OF  BUSINESS 
SAID  .  .  .  AND  PROCEEDED  TO  PUT  THE  PROJECT  INTO 
WORDS  OF  THREE  LETTERS  ........  Facing  p.  22 

HOWARD  DID  NOT  NOTICE  HER  PREOCCUPATION.  HE 
WAS  POURING  OUT  His  PLANS,  LAURA  PUNCTUAT 
ING  ALL  HE  SAID  WITH  CRIES  OF  ADMIRATION  AND 
ENVY  ...............  "  108 

"Dm  You  SEE  THAT  FISH  JUMP?"  HE  ASKED.  FRED- 

ERICA  GAVE  A  DISGUSTED  GRUNT  ......  "  140 


THE    RISING   TIDE 


THE    RISING    TIDE 


CHAPTER   I 

A  SINGLE  car-track  ran  through  Payton  Street,  and 
•**•  over  it,  once  in  a  while,  a  small  car  jogged  along, 
drawn  by  two  mules.  Thirty  years  ago  Payton  Street 
had  been  shocked  by  the  intrusion  upon  its  gentility  of  a 
thing  so  noisy  and  vulgar  as  a  street-car;  but  now,  when 
the  rest  of  the  town  was  shuttled  with  trolleys  and  clam 
orous  with  speed,  it  seemed  to  itself  an  oasis  of  silence. 
Its  gentility  had  ebbed  long  ago.  The  big  houses,  standing 
a  little  back  from  the  sidewalk,  were  given  over  to  lodgers 
or  small  businesses.  Indeed,  the  Paytons  were  the  only 
people  left  who  belonged  to  Payton  Street's  past — and 
there  was  a  barber  shop  next  door  to  them,  and  a  livery- 
stable  across  the  street. 

"  Rather  different  from  the  time  when  your  dear  father 
brought  me  here,  a  bride,"  Mrs.  Payton  used  to  say, 
sighing. 

Her  daughter  agreed,  dryly:  "I  hope  so!  Certainly 
nobody  would  live  on  Payton  Street  now,  if  they  could 
afford  to  buy  a  lot  in  the  cemetery." 

Yet  the  Paytons,  who  could  have  bought  several  lots 

i 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

in  the  cemetery  (or  over  on  the  Hill,  either,  which  was 
where  they  belonged !) ,  did  not  leave  the  old  house — a  big, 
brownstone  cube,  with  a  belvedere  on  top  of  it  that  looked 
like  a  bird-cage.  The  yard  in  front  of  the  house  was  so 
shaded  by  ailanthus-trees  that  grass  refused  to  grow  there, 
and  an  iron  dog,  guarding  the  patch  of  bare  earth,  was 
spotted  with  mold; 

The  street  was  very  quiet, — except  when  the  barber's 
children  squabbled  shrilly,  or  Baker's  livery-stable  sent 
out  a  few  funeral  hacks,  or  when,  from  a  barred  window 
in  the  ell  of  the  Payton  house,  there  came  a  noisy  laugh. 
And  always,  on  the  half -hour,  the  two  mules  went  tinkling 
along,  their  neat  little  feet  cupping  down  over  the  cobble 
stones,  and  their  trace-chains  swinging  and  sagging 
about  their  heels.  The  conductor  on  the  car  had  been  on 
the  route  so  long  that  he  knew  many  of  his  patrons,  and 
nodded  to  them  in  a  friendly  way,  and  said  it  was  a  good 
day,  or  too  cold  for  the  season;  occasionally  he  imparted 
information  which  he  thought  might  be  of  interest  to 
them. 

On  this  October  afternoon  of  brown  fog  and  occasional 
dashes  of  rain  he  enlightened  a  lady  with  a  vaguely  sweet 
face,  who  signaled  him  to  stop  at  No.  15. 

"Miss  Pay  ton's  out,"  he  said,  pulling  the  strap  over  his 
head  and  bringing  his  car  to  a  standstill;  "but  her 
ma's  at  home.  I  brought  the  old  lady  back  on  my  last 
trip,  just  as  Miss  Freddy  was  starting  off  with  that 
pup  of  hers." 

"It's  the  'old  lady'  I've  come  to  see,"  his  fare  said, 
smiling,  and,  gathering  up  her  skirts,  stepped  down  into 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

the  Payton  Street  mud.  The  bell  jangled  and  the  mules 
went  clattering  off  over  the  cobblestones. 

Mrs.  William  Childs,  picking  her  way  to  the  sidewalk, 
said  to  herself  that  she  almost  wished  Freddy  and  her 
dog  were  at  home,  instead  of  the  "old  lady." 

"Poor  dear  Ellen,"  she  thought,  in  amiable  detachment 
from  other  people's  troubles;  "she's  always  asking  me 
to  sit  in  judgment  on  Fred — and  there's  nothing  on  earth 
I  can  do." 

It  occurred  to  her  as  she  passed  under  the  dripping 
ailanthus-trees  and  up  the  white  marble  door-steps  that 
Payton  Street  was  a  gloomy  place  for  a  young  creature 
like  Frederica  to  live.  "Even  my  Laura  would  kick," 
she  thought;  her  thoughts  were  often  in  her  Laura's 
vernacular.  In  the  dark  hall,  clutching  at  the  newel- 
post  on  which  an  Egyptian  maiden  held  aloft  a  gas- 
burner  in  a  red  globe,  she  extended  a  foot  to  a  melan 
choly  mulatto  woman,  who  removed  her  rubbers  and 
then  hung  her  water-proof  on  the  rack  beside  a  silk  hat 
belonging  to  the  late  Mr.  Payton — kept  there,  Mrs. 
Childs  knew,  to  frighten  perennially  expected  burglars. 

"Thank  you,  Flora,"  she  said.  "Has  Mr.  Weston 
come  yet?"  When  Flora  explained  that  Mr.  Weston 
was  not  expected  until  later,  she  started  up-stairs — then 
hesitated,  her  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Egyptian 
maiden:  "Mr.  Mortimore — he's  not  about?" 

"Land,  no,  Mis'  Childs!"  the  woman  reassured  her; 
"he  don't  ever  come  down  'thout  his  ma  or  Miss  Carter's 
along  with  him." 

Mrs.  Childs  nodded  in  a  relieved  way,  and  went  on  up 

3 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

to  the  sitting-room  where,  as  she  had  been  warned,  she 
and  Mr.  Arthur  Weston,  one  of  the  trustees  of  what  was 
popularly  known  as  "the  old  Andy  Payton  estate,"  were 
to  "sit  in  judgment."  "  It  is  hard  for  Fred  to  have  Morti- 
more  in  the  house,"  she  thought^  kindly;  "poor  Freddy!" 

The  sitting-room  was  in  the  ell,  and  pausing  on  the 
landing  at  the  steps  that  led  up  to  it,  she  looked  furtively 
beyond  it,  toward  another  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  "I 
wonder  if  Ellen  ever  forgets  to  lock  the  door  on  her  side?" 
she  thought; — "well,  Nelly  dear,  how  are  you?"  she  called 
out,  cheerfully. 

Mrs.  Payton,  bustling  forward  to  meet  her,  overflowed 
with  exclamations  of  gratitude  for  her  visit.  "And  such 
unpleasant  weather,  too!  I  do  hope  you  didn't  get  your 
feet  damp?  I  always  tell  Freddy  there  is  no  surer  way 
to  take  cold  than  to  get  your  feet  damp.  Of  course  she 
doesn't  believe  me,  but  I'm  used  to  that!  Is  William's 
cold  better?  I  suppose  he's  glad  of  an  excuse  to  stay  in 
doors  and  read  about  Bacon  and  Shakespeare;  which  was 
which  ?  I  never  can  remember !  Now  sit  right  down  here. 
No,  take  this  chair!" 

The  caller,  moving  from  one  chair  to  another,  was  per 
fectly  docile;  it  was  Ellen's  way,  and  Mrs.  Childs  had 
long  ago  discovered  the  secret  of  a  peaceful  life,  namely, 
always,  so  far  as  possible,  to  let  other  people  have  their 
own  way.  She  looked  about  the  sitting-room,  and  thought 
that  her  sister-in-law  was  very  comfortable.  "Laura 
would  have  teased  me  to  death  if  I  had  kept  my  old- 
fashioned  things,"  she  reflected.  The  room  was  feminine 
as  well  as  old-fashioned;  the  deeply  upholstered  chairs 

4 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

and  couches  were  covered  with  flounced  and  flowery 
chintz;  on  a  green  wire  plant-stand,  over-watered  ferns 
grew  daily  more  scraggy  and  anemic;  the  windows  were 
smothered  in  lambrequins  and  curtains,  and  beadwork 
valances  draped  corner  brackets  holding  Parian  marble 
statuettes;  of  course  there  was  the  usual  womanish 
clutter  of  photographs  in  silver  frames.  On  the  center- 
table  a  slowly  evolving  picture  puzzle  had  pushed  a  few 
books  to  one  side — pretty  little  books  with  pretty  names, 
Flowers  0}  Peace  and  Messages  from  Heaven,  most  of  them 
with  the  leaves  still  uncut.  It  was  an  eminently  com 
fortable  room;  indeed,  next  to  her  conception  of  duty, 
the  most  important  thing  in  Mrs.  Andrew  Payton's  life 
was  comfort. 

Just  now,  she  was  tenanciously  solicitous  for  Mrs. 
Childs's  ease;  was  she  warm  enough?  Wasn't  the  foot 
stool  a  little  too  high?  And  the  fire — dear  me!  the  fire 
was  too  hot!  She  must  put  up  the  screen.  She  wouldn't 
make  tea  until  Mr.  Weston  came;  yes,  he  had  promised 
to  come;  she  had  written  him,  frankly,  that  he  had 
simply  got  to  do  something  about  Freddy.  "He's  her 
trustee,  as  well  as  mine,  and  I  told  him  he  simply  must 
do  something  about  this  last  wild  idea  of  hers.  Now! 
isn't  it  better  to  have  the  screen  in  front  of  the  fire?" 

Mrs.  Childs  said  the  screen  was  most  comfortable; 
then  added,  in  uncertain  reminiscence,  "Wasn't  Mr. 
Weston  jilted  ages  ago  by  some  Philadelphia  girl?" 

"Oh,  dear,  yes;  so  sad.  Kate  Morrison.  She  ran  off 
with  somebody  else  just  a  week  before  they  were  to  be 
married.  Horribly  awkward  for  him;  the  invitations  all 

5 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

out!  He  went  to  Europe,  and  was  agent  for  Payton's 
until  dear  Andrew  died.  You  are  quite  sure  you  are  not 
too  warm?" 

"No,  indeed!"  Mrs.  Childs  said.  "How  is  Morti- 
more?"  It  was  a  perfunctory  question,  but  its  omission 
would  have  pained  Mortimore's  mother. 

"Very  well!"  Mrs.  Payton  said;  her  voice  challenging 
any  one  to  suspect  anything  wrong  with  Mortimore's 
health.  "He  knew  Freddy  to-day;  he  was  in  the  hall 
when  she  went  out;  he  can't  bear  her  dog,  and  he — he 
scolded  a  little.  I'm  sure  I  don't  blame  him !  I  hate  dogs, 
myself.  But  he  knew  her;  Miss  Carter  told  me  about  it 
when  I  came  in.  I  was  so  pleased." 

"That  was  very  nice,"  her  visitor  said,  kindly.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence;  then,  glancing  toward  a  closed 
door  that  connected  the  sitting-room  with  that  room  at 
the  end  of  the  ell,  she  said,  hesitatingly:  "Nelly  dear, 
don't  you  think  that  perhaps  Freddy  wouldn't  be  so 
difficult,  if  poor  Mortimore  were  not  at  home?  William 
says  he  thinks — " 

"My  son  shall  never  leave  this  house  as  long  as  I  am 
in  it  myself!"  Mrs.  Payton  interrupted,  her  face  flushing 
darkly  red. 

"But  it  is  unpleasant  for  Fred,  and — " 

"'Unpleasant'  to  have  her  poor  afflicted  brother  in  the 
house?  Bessie,  I  wouldn't  have  thought  such  a  thing 
of  you!  Let  me  tell  you,  once  for  all,  as  I've  told  you 
many,  many  times  before — never,  while  I  live,  shall 
Mortimore  be  treated  cruelly  and  turned  out  of  his  own 
home!" 

6 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"But  William  says  they  are  not  cruel,  at — at  those 
places;  and  Mortimore,  poor  boy!  would  never  know  the 
difference." 

"He  would!  He  would!  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  recog 
nized  his  sister  to-day?  His  sister,  who  cares  more  for 
her  dog  than  she  does  for  him!  And  he  almost  always 
knows  me.  Bessie,  you  don't  understand  how  a  mother 
feels — "  she  had  risen  and  was  walking  about  the  room, 
her  fat,  worn  face  sharpening  with  a  sort  of  animal 
alertness  into  power  and  protection.  The  claws  that  hide 
in  every  maternal  creature  slipped  out  of  the  fur  of  good 
manners:  "We've  gone  all  over  this  a  hundred  times; 
I  know  that  you  think  I  am  a  fool ;  and  I  think  that  you 
— well,  never  mind!  The  amount  of  it  is,  you  are  not  a 
mother." 

"My  dear!    What  about  my  three  children?" 

"Three  healthy  children!  What  do  you  know  of  the 
real  child,  the  afflicted  child,  like  my  Mortimore?  Why, 
I'd  see  Freddy  in  her  grave  before  I'd — "  She  stopped 
short.  "I — I  love  both  my  children  exactly  the  same," 
she  ended,  weakly.  Then  broke  out  again:  "You  and 
I  were  brought  up  to  do  our  duty,  and  not  talk  about  it 
whether  it  was  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  And  let  me  tell 
you,  if  Freddy  would  do  her  duty  to  her  brother,  as  old 
Aunt  Adelaide  did  to  her  invalid  brother,  she'd  be  a 
thousand  times  happier  than  she  is  now,  mixing  up  with 
perfectly  common  people,  and  talking  about  earning  her 
own  living!  Yes,  that's  the  last  bee  in  her  bonnet, — 
Working!  a  girl  with  a  good  home,  and  nothing  on  earth 
to  do  but  amuse  herself.  She  uses  really  vulgar  words 

7 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

about  women  who  never  worked  for  their  living;  you  and 
me,  for  instance.  'Vermin' — no, 'parasites.'  Disgusting! 
Yes;  if  Freddy  was  like  her  great-aunt  Adelaide — " 
Mrs.  Payton,  sinking  into  a  chair  bubbly  with  springs 
and  down,  was  calmer,  but  she  wiped  her  eyes  once  or 
twice:  "Aunt  Adelaide  gave  up  her  life  to  poor  Uncle 
Henry.  Everybody  says  she  had  lots  of  beaux!  I 
heard  she  had  seven  offers.  But  she  never  dreamed  of 
getting  married.  She  just  lived  for  her  brother.  And 
they  say  he  was  dreadful,  Bessie;  whereas  my  poor 
Mortimore  is  only — not  quite  like  other  people."  Mrs. 
Childs  gasped.  "When  Morty  was  six  months  old," 
Mrs.  Payton  said,  in  a  tense  voice,  "and  we  began 
to  be  anxious  about  him,  Andrew  said  to  the  doctor,  'I 
suppose  the  brat'  (you  know  men  speak  so  frankly)  '  has  no 
brains?'  and  Dr.  Davis  said,  'The  intellect  is  there,  Mr. 
Payton,  but  it  is  veiled.'  That  has  always  been  such  a 
comfort  to  me;  Morty's  intellect  is  there!  And  besides, 
you  must  remember,  Bessie,  that  even  if  he  isn't — very 
intelligent,  he's  a  man,  so  he's  really  the  head  of  the 
family.  As  for  Freddy,  as  I  say,  if  she  would  follow  her 
aunt  Adelaide's  example,  instead  of  reading  horrid  books 
about  things  that  when  I  was  a  young  lady,  girls  didn't 
know  existed,  she'd  be  a  good  deal  more  comfortable  to 
live  with.  Oh,  dear!  what  am  I  going  to  do  about  her? 
As  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Weston,  when  I  asked  him  to  come  in 
this  afternoon,  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  her?" 

"What  has  poor  Fred  done  now?"  Fred's  aunt  asked, 
trying  patiently  to  shut  off  the  torrent  of  talk. 

Mrs.  Payton  drew  a  long  breath;  her  chin  was  still 

8 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

unsteady.  "It  isn't  so  much  this  last  performance,  be 
cause,  of  course,  in  spite  of  what  Mama  says,  everybody 
who  knows  Freddy,  knows  that  there  was — nothing 
wrong.  But  it's  her  ideas,  and  the  way  she  talks.  Really, 
Bessie—" 

"My  dear,  they  all  talk  most  unpleasantly!" 
Mrs.  Payton  shook  her  fair  head.  "Your  Laura  doesn't. 
I  never  heard  Lolly  say  the  sort  of  things  Freddy  does. 
She  calls  her  father  'Billy-boy,'  I  know,  but  that's  only 
fun — though  in  our  day,  imagine  us  calling  our  fathers  by  a 
nickname!  No,  Bessie,  it's  Freddy's  taste.  It's  positively 
low!  There  is  a  Mrs.  McKenzie,  a  scrubwoman  out  at 
the  Inn,  and  she  is — you  know  ?  It  will  be  the  seventh,  and 
they  really  can  hardly  feed  the  six  they  have.  And 
Freddy,  a  young  girl,  actually  told  Mrs.  McKenzie  she 
ought  not  to  have  so  many  children!" 

"Well,  Ellen,  if  there  are  too  many  now,  it  does  seem — " 
"But,  Bessie!  A  girl  to  speak  of  such  things!  Why, 
you  and  I,  before  we  were  married,  didn't  know — still, 
there's  no  use  harking  back  to  our  girlhood.  And  as  for 
the  things  she  says!  .  .  .  Yesterday  I  was  speaking  of 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Tait,  and  she  said:  'I  haven't  any  use  for 
Tait;  he  has  no  guts  to  him.' " 

Mrs.  Childs  was  mildly  horrified.  "But  it's  only  bad 
taste,"  she  excused  her  niece.  She  was  fond  of  this  poor, 
troubled  sister-in-law  of  hers — but  really,  what  was  the 
use  of  fussing  so  over  mere  bad  taste  ?  Over  really  serious 
things,  such  as  keeping  that  dreadful  Mortimore  about, 
Ellen  didn't  fuss  at  all!  "How  queer  she  is,"  Mrs.  Childs 
reflected,  impersonal,  but  kindly;  then  murmured  that  if 
2  9 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

she  had  been  unhappy  about  her  children's  slang,  she'd 
have  been  in  her  grave  by  this  time;  "You  should  hear 
my  boys!  And,  after  all,  Ellen,  Fred's  a  good  child,  in 
spite  of  this  thing  she's  done  (you  haven't  told  me  what 
it  is  yet) .  She's  merely  like  all  the  rest  of  them — thinks  she 
knows  it  all.  Well,  we  did,  too,  at  her  age,  only  we  didn't 
say  so.  Sometimes  I  think  they  are  more  straightforward 
than  we  were.  But  I  made  up  my  mind,  years  ago,  that 
there  was  no  use  trying  to  run  the  children  on  my  ideas. 
Criticism  only  provoked  them,  and  made  me  wretched,  and 
accomplished  nothing.  So,  as  William  says,  why  fuss?" 

"Fred  is  my  daughter,  so  I  have  to  'fuss.'" 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Childs,  patiently,  "what  is  it?" 

"Hasn't  Laura  told  you?  Mama  says  everybody  is 
talking  about  it." 

"No;  she  hasn't  said  anything." 

"My  dear,  Freddy  spent  the  night  at  the  Inn,  with 
Howard  Maitland." 

"Whatf" 

"His  car  broke  down — " 

"Oh,  an  accident?  You  can't  blame  Fred  for  that. 
But  why  didn't  they  take  the  trolley?" 

"They  just  missed  the  last  car." 

"Well,  they  were  two  careless  children,  but  you  wouldn't 
have  had  them  walk  into  town,  twelve  miles,  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night?" 

"I  certainly  would!  Freddy  is  always  telling  me  I 
ought  to  walk  to  keep  my  weight  down — so  why  didn't 
she  walk  home?  And  as  for  their  being  children,  she  is 
twenty-five  and  I  am  sure  he  is  twenty-seven." 

10 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

She  paused  here  to  wonder  about  Mr.  Maitland: 
curious  that  he  liked  to  live  alone  in  that  big  house  on  the 
hill!  Pity  he  hadn't  any  relatives — a  maiden  aunt,  or 
anybody  who  could  keep  house  for  him.  His  mother  was 
a  sweet  little  thing.  Nice  that  he  had  money. 

"He  ought  to  marry,"  said  Mrs.  Childs. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Pay  ton;  and  dropped  young 
Maitland  to  go  back  to  the  Inn  escapade:  "Mama  was 
so  shocked  when  she  heard  about  it  that  she  thought 
William  ought  to  go  and  see  Mr.  Maitland  and  tell  him 
he  must  marry  her.  Of  course,  that  is  absurd — Mama 
belongs  to  another  generation.  Freddy  did  take  the 
trouble  to  telephone  me;  but  Flora  took  the  message — 
poor  Flora!  she's  so  dissatisfied  and  low-spirited.  I  wish 
she'd '  get  religion ' — that  keeps  servants  contented.  Miss 
Carter  says  she's  in  love  with  one  of  the  men  at  the  livery- 
stable.  But  he  isn't  very  devoted.  Well,  I  was  in  bed 
with  a  headache  (I've  been  dreadfully  busy  this  week, 
and  pretty  tired,  and  besides,  I  had  worked  all  the  even 
ing  on  a  puzzle,  and  I  was  perfectly  worn  out) ;  so  Flora 
didn't  tell  me,  and  I  didn't  know  Freddy  hadn't  come 
home  until  the  next  morning.  It  appears  she  was  advising 
Mrs.  McKenzie  as  to  the  size  of  her  family,  and  when 
Mr.  Maitland  found  he  couldn't  make  his  motor  go,  and 
told  her  they  must  take  the  trolley,  she  just  kept  on 
instructing  Mrs.  McKenzie!  So  they  missed  the  car.  She 
admitted  that  it  was  her  fault.  Well,  then — oh,  here  is 
Mr.  Weston!" 

He  came  into  the  room,  dusky  with  the  fog  that  was 
pressing  against  the  windows,  like  a  slender  shadow;  a 

ii 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

tall,  rather  delicate-looking  man  in  the  late  forties,  with 
a  handsome,  whimsical  face,  which  endeavored,  just  now, 
to  conceal  its  boredom. 

"Criminal  not  present?"  he  said,  shaking  hands  with 
the  two  ladies  and  peering  near-sightedly  about. 

"Oh,  she's  off  with  her  dog,  walking  miles  and  miles, 
to  keep  from  getting  fat,"  Mrs.  Pay  ton  said.  She  sat 
down  at  her  tea-table,  and  tried,  fussily,  to  light  the 
lamp  under  the  kettle.  "  It's  wicked  to  be  fat,  you  know," 
she  ended,  with  resentful  sarcasm;  "  I  wish  you  could  hear 
Fred  talk  about  it!" 

"I  wish  I  could,"  Frederica's  man  of  business  said, 
lifting  a  humorous  eyebrow;  "I  always  like  to  hear  Fred 
talk.  Let  me  fix  that  lamp  for  you,  Mrs.  Payton.  I 
hope  I'm  thin  enough  to  be  moral?" 

The  two  ladies  regarded  him  with  maternal  eyes,  and 
Mrs.  Childs  recommended  a  glass  of  milk  at  bedtime. 

"Be  sure  it  is  pasteurized,"  she  warned  him;  "my 
William  always  says  it's  perfect  nonsense  to  fuss  about 
that — but  I  say  it's  only  prudent." 

"Must  I  pasteurize  my  whisky,  too?"  he  said,  meekly; 
"I  sometimes  take  that  at  bedtime."  It  occurred  to  him 
that  when  he  had  the  chance  he  would  tell  Freddy  that 
what  with  pasteurized  milk,  and  all  the  other  improve 
ments  upon  Nature,  her  children  would  be  supermen; 
"they'll  say  they  were  evolved  from  us,"  he  reflected, 
sipping  his  tea,  and  listening  to  his  hostess's  outpourings 
about  her  daughter,  "as  we  say  we  were  evolved  from 
monkeys." 

Not  that  Mrs.  Payton — telling  him,  with  endless  illus- 

12 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

trations,  just  how  "impossible"  her  Freddy  was — looked 
in  the  least  like  a  monkey;  she  was  a  large,  fair,  dull  lady, 
of  fifty-seven  or  thereabouts,  who  never  took  any  exercise, 
and  credited  the  condition  of  her  liver  to  Providence; 
but  she  was  nearly  as  far  removed  from  Miss  Frederica 
Payton  as  she  was  from  those  arboreal  ancestors,  the  very 
mention  of  whom  would  have  shocked  her  religious  prin 
ciples,  for  Mrs.  Payton  was  very  truly  and  humbly  re 
ligious. 

"And  church — Freddy  never  goes  to  church,"  she  com 
plained.  "She  plays  tennis  all  Sunday  morning.  Rather 
different  from  our  day,  isn't  it,  Bessie?  We  children  were 
never  allowed  even  to  read  secular  books  on  Sunday. 
Well,  I  think  it  was  better  than  the  laxity  of  the  present. 
We  always  wore  our  best  dresses  to  church,  and — " 

"  May  I  have  some  more  tea,  Mrs.  Payton?"  her  auditor 
murmured,  and,  the  tide  of  reminiscence  thus  skilfully 
dammed,  Freddy's  offense  was  finally  revealed  to  him. 
"Well,"  he  said, — "yes,  cream  please;  a  great  deal!  I 
hope  it's  pasteurized? — they  were  stupid  to  lose  the  car. 
Fred  told  me  all  about  it  yesterday;  it  appears  she  was 
talking  to  some  poor  woman  about  the  size  of  her  family" 
— the  two  ladies  exchanged  horrified  glances; — "of  course, 
Maitland  ought  to  have  broken  in  on  eugenics  and  hustled 
her  off.  But  an  accident  isn't  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins, 
and — " 

"Oh,"  Fred's  mother  interrupted,  "of  course  there  was 
nothing  wrong." 

Mr.  Weston  looked  at  her  admiringly;  she  really  con 
ceived  it  necessary  to  say  such  a  thing!  Those  denied 

13 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

ancestors  of  hers  could  hardly  have  been  more  direct. 
It  occurred  to  him,  reaching  for  another  lump  of  sugar, 
that  Frederica  came  by  her  talent  for  free  speech  honestly. 
"With  her  mother,  it  is  free  thought.  Fred  goes  one  bet 
ter,  that's  all,"  he  reflected,  dreamily.  Once  or  twice, 
while  the  complaints  flowed  steadily  on,  he  roused  him 
self  from  his  amused  abstraction  to  murmur  sympathetic 
disapproval:  "Of  course  she  ought  not  to  say  things 
like  that—" 

"She  is  impossible!"  Mrs.  Payton  sighed.  "Why,  she 
said  'Damn/  right  out,  before  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tait!" 

"Did  she  damn  Tait?    I  know  him,  and  really — " 

"Well,  no;  I  think  it  was  the  weather.  But  that  is 
nothing  to  the  way  she  talks  about  old  people." 

"About  me,  perhaps?" 

"Oh  no;  really,  no!  About  you?"  Mrs.  Payton  stam 
mered;  "why — how  could  she  say  anything  about  you?" 

Arthur  Weston's  eyes  twinkled.  ("I'll  make  her  tell 
me  what  it  was,"  he  promised  himself.) 

"As  for  age,"  Mrs.  Childs  corroborated,  "she  seems  to 
have  no  respect  for  it.  She  spoke  quite  rudely  to  her  uncle 
William  about  Shakespeare  and  Bacon.  She  said  the 
subject  'bored'  her." 

Mr.  Weston  shook  his  head,  speechless. 

"And  she  said,"  Mrs.  Childs  went  on,  her  usual  detach 
ment  sharpening  for  a  moment  into  personal  displeasure, 
"she  said  the  antis  had  no  brains;  and  she  knows  I'm  an 
anti!" 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  Fred's  mother  condoled,  "I'm  an  anti, 
and  she  says  shocking  things  to  me;  once  she  said  the 

14 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

antis  were — I  really  can't  say  just  what  she  said  before 
Mr.  Weston;  but  she  implied  they  were — merely  mothers. 
And  as  for  her  language!  I  was  saying  how  perfectly 
shocked  my  dear  old  friend,  Miss  Maria  Spencer,  was 
over  this  Inn  escapade;  Miss  Maria  said  that  if  it  were 
known  that  Freddy  had  spent  the  night  at  the  Inn  with 
Mr.  Maitland  her  reputation  would  be  gone." 

Mr.  Weston's  lips  drew  up  for  a  whistle,  but  he  frowned. 

"I  told  Freddy,  and  what  do  you  suppose  she  said? 
Really,  I  hesitate  to  repeat  it." 

"But  dear  Ellen,"  Mrs.  Childs  broke  in,  "it  was  horrid 
in  Miss  Spencer  to  say  such  a  thing!  I  don't  wonder 
Freddy  was  provoked." 

"She  brought  it  on  herself,"  Mrs.  Payton  retorted. 
"Have  another  sandwich,  Bessie?  What  she  said  is  al 
most  too  shocking  to  quote.  She  said  of  my  dear  old 
friend — Miss  Spencer  used  to  be  my  school-teacher,  Mr. 
Weston — 'What  difference  does  it  make  what  she  said 
about  me?  Everybody  knows  Miss  Spencer  is  a  silly  old 
ass.'  'A  silly  old  ass.'  What  do  you  think  of  that?"  Mrs. 
Pay  ton's  voice  trembled  so  with  indignation  that  she  did 
not  hear  Mr.  Weston's  gasp  of  laughter.  But  as  she 
paused,  wounded  and  ashamed,  he  was  quick  to  console 
her: 

"It  was  abominably  disrespectful!" 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  reverence  left  in  the  world," 
said  Mrs.  Childs;  "my  William  says  he  doesn't  know 
what  we  are  coming  to." 

"Youth  is  very  cruel,"  Mr.  Weston  said. 

Mrs.  Payton's  eyes  filled.    "Freddy  is  cruel,"  she  said, 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

simply.  The  wounded  look  in  her  worn  face  was  pitiful. 
They  both  tried  to  comfort  her;  they  denounced  Freddy, 
and  wondered  at  her,  and  agreed  with  Mr.  Childs  that 
"nobody  knew  what  we  were  coming  to."  In  fact,  they 
said  every  possible  thing  except  the  one  thing  which, 
with  entire  accuracy,  they  might  have  said,  namely,  that 
Miss  Spencer  was  a  silly  old  ass. 

"When  I  was  a  young  lady,"  Mrs.  Payton  said,  "re 
spect  for  my  elders  would  have  made  such  words  impos 
sible." 

"Even  if  you  didn't  respect  them,  you  would  have 
been  respectful?"  Mr.  Weston  suggested. 

"We  reverenced  age  because  it  was  age,"  she  agreed. 

"Yes;  in  those  happy  days  respect  was  not  dependent 
upon  desert,"  he  said,  ruefully.  (Mrs.  Childs  looked  at 
him  uneasily ;  just  what  did  he  mean  by  that ?)  "It  must 
have  been  very  comfortable,"  he  ruminated,  "to  be  re* 
spected  when  you  didn't  deserve  to  be!  This  new  state 
of  things  I  don't  like  at  all;  I  find  that  they  size  me  up  as 
I  am,  these  youngsters,  not  as  what  they  ought  to  think 
I  am.  One  of  my  nephews  told  me  the  other  day  that  I 
didn't  know  what  I  was  talking  about." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mr.  Weston,  how  shocking!"  Mrs.  Pay- 
ton  sympathized. 

"Well,  as  it  happened,  I  didn't,"  he  said,  mildly;  "but 
how  outrageous  for  the  cub  to  recognize  the  fact." 

"Perfectly  outrageous!"  said  his  hostess.  "But  it's 
just  as  Bessie  says,  they  don't  know  the  meaning  of  the 
word  'respect.'  You  should  hear  Freddy  talk  about  her 
grandmother.  The  other  day  when  I  told  her  that  my 

16 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

dear  mother  said  that  if  women  had  the  ballot,  chivalry 
would  die  out  and  men  wouldn't  take  off  their  hats  in 
elevators  when  ladies  were  present, — she  said,  'Grand 
mother  belongs  to  the  generation  of  women  who  were 
satisfied  to  have  men  retain  their  vices,  if  they  removed 
their  hats.'  What  do  you  think  of  that !  i'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  Freddy's  father  would  have  said  if  he  had 
heard  his  daughter  say  such  a  thing  about  his  mother-in- 
law." 

Mr.  Weston,  having  known  the  late  Andy  Payton, 
thought  it  unwise  to  quote  the  probable  comment  of  the 
deceased.  Instead,  he  tried  to  change  the  subject: 
"Howard  Maitland  is  a  nice  chap;  I  wonder  if — "  he 
paused;  there  was  a  scufHe  on  the  other  side  of  the  closed 
door,  a  bellowing  laugh,  then  a  whine.  Mrs.  Childs  bit 
her  lip  and  shivered.  Mr.  Weston's  face  was  inscrutable. 
"I  wonder,"  he  continued,  raising  his  voice — "if  Fred  will 
smile  on  Maitland  ?  By  the  way,  I  hear  he  is  going  in  for 
conchology  seriously." 

"Mortimore  is  nervous  this  afternoon,"  Mrs.  Payton 
said,  hurriedly;  "that  horrid  puppy  worried  him.  Con 
chology  means  shells,  doesn't  it?  Freddy  says  he  has  a 
great  collection  of  shells.  I  was  thinking  of  sending  him 
that  old  conch-shell  I  used  to  use  to  keep  the  parlor  door 
open.  Do  you  remember,  Bessie?  Yes,  Mr.  Maitland  is 
attentive,  but  I  don't  know  how  serious  it  is.  Of  course, 
I'm  the  last  person  to  know!  Rather  different  from  the 
time  when  a  young  man  asked  the  girl's  parents  if  he 
might  pay  his  addresses,  isn't  it?  Well,  I  want  to  tell 
you  what  she  said  when  I  spoke  to  her  about  this  plan  of 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

earning  her  living  (that's  her  latest  fad,  Mr.  Weston),  and 
told  her  that,  as  Mama  says,  it  isn't  done;  she — " 

"Oh,  dear!  There's  the  car  coming,"  Mrs.  Childs  broke 
in,  as  the  tinkle  of  the  mules'  bells  made  itself  heard.  "  Do 
hurry  and  tell  us,  Nelly;  I've  got  to  go." 

"But  you  mustn't!  I  want  to  know  what  you  think 
about  it  all,"  Mrs.  Payton  said,  distractedly;  "wait  for 
the  next  car." 

"I'm  so  sorry,  dear  Ellen,  but  I  really  can't,"  her  sister- 
in-law  declared,  rising.  "Cheer  up!  I'm  sure  she'll  settle 
down  if  she  cares  about  Mr.  Maitland.  (I'm  out  of  it!" 
she  was  thinking.)  But  even  as  she  was  congratulating 
herself,  she  was  lost,  for  from  the  landing  a  fresh  young 
voice  called  out: 

"May  I  come  in,  Aunt  Nelly?  How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Weston!  Mama,  I  came  to  catch  you  and  make  you 
walk  home.  Mama  has  got  to  walk,  she's  getting  so  fat! 
Aunt  Nelly,  Howard  Maitland  is  here;  I  met  him  on  the 
door-step  and  brought  him  in." 


CHAPTER  II 

T  AURA  CHILDS  came  into  the  quiet,  fire-lit  room 
•*-'  like  a  little  whirl  of  fresh  wind.  The  young  man, 
looming  up  behind  her  in  the  doorway,  clean-shaven, 
square- jawed,  honest-eyed,  gave  a  sunshiny  grin  of  gen 
eral  friendliness  and  said  he  hoped  Mrs.  Payton  would 
forgive  him  for  butting  in,  but  Fred  had  told  him  to  call 
for  some  book  she  wanted  him  to  read,  and  the  maid 
didn't  know  anything  about  it. 

"I  thought  perhaps  she  had  left  it  with  you,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Payton,  conscious,  as  were  the  other  two,  of  having 
talked  about  the  speaker  only  a  minute  before,  expressed 
flurried  and  embarrassed  concern.  She  was  so  sorry! 
She  couldn't  imagine  where  the  book  was!  She  got  up, 
and  fumbled  among  the  Flowers  of  Peace.  "You  don't 
remember  the  title?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "Awfully  sorry.  I'm  so  stupid 
about  all  these  deep  books  Fred's  so  keen  on.  Something 
about  birth-rate  and  the  higher  education,  I  think." 

Mrs.  Payton  stiffened  visibly.  "I  don't  know  of  any 
such  book,"  she  said;  then  murmured,  perfunctorily,  that 
he  must  have  a  cup  of  tea. 

Again  Mr.  Maitland  was  sorry, — "dreadfully  sorry," — 
but  he  had  to  go.  He  went ;  and  the  two  ladies  looked  at 
each  other. 

19 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Do  you  suppose  he  heard  us?" 

"I  don't  believe  he  did!" 

"Nice  chap,"  said  Mr.  Weston. 

On  the  way  down-stairs  the  nice  chap  was  telling  Laura 
that  he  had  caught  on,  the  minute  he  got  into  that  room, 
that  it  wasn't  any  social  whirl,  so  he  thought  he'd  better 
get  out. 

"They're  sitting  on  Freddy,  I'm  afraid,"  Laura  said, 
soberly;  "poor  old  Fred!" 

"Well,  I  put  one  over  when  I  asked  for  that  book! 
I  bet  even  old  Weston's  never  read  it!  Neither  have  I. 
But  Fred  can  give  us  all  cards  and  spades  on  sociology." 

"She's  great,"  Laura  agreed;  "but  the  book  isn't  so 
awfully  deep.  Well,  I'm  going  back  to  root  for  her!" 

She  ran  up  to  the  sitting-room  again,  and  demanded  tea. 
Her  face,  under  her  big  black  hat,  was  like  a  rose,  and  her 
pleasant  brown  eyes  glanced  with  all  the  sweet,  good- 
natured  indifference  of  kindly  youth  at  the  three  troubled 
people  about  the  tea-table.  Somehow,  quite  unreason 
ably,  their  depression  lightened  for  a  moment.  .  .  . 

"  No !    No  sugar,  Aunt  Nelly. ' ' 

"Do  you  want  to  be  as  thin  as  I  am,  Miss  Laura?" 
Arthur  Weston  remonstrated,  watching  her  rub  her  cool 
cheek  against  her  mother's,  and  kiss  her  aunt,  and  "hook" 
a  sandwich  from  the  tea-table.  One  had  to  smile  at  Laura; 
her  mother  smiled,  even  while  she  thought  of  the  walk 
home,  and  realized,  despairingly,  that  the  car  was  coming 
— coming — and  would  be  gone  in  a  minute  or  two ! 

"My  dear,  your  father  says  all  this  fuss  about  exercise 
is  perfect  nonsense.  Really,  I  think  we'd  better  ride," 

20 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

she  pleaded  with  the  pretty  creature,  who  was  asking, 
ruthlessly,  for  lemon,  which  meant  another  delay. 

"  I'll  ring,  Auntie;  Flora  will  get  it  in  a  minute.  Mama, 
I  bet  you  haven't  walked  an  inch  this  day !  I  knew  you'd 
take  the  car  if  I  didn't  come  and  drag  you  on  to  your  legs," 
she  ended,  maliciously;  but  it  was  such  pretty  malice, 
and  her  face  was  so  gayly  amiable  that  her  mother  sur 
rendered.  "The  only  thing  that  reconciles  me  to  Billy 
boy's  being  too  poor  to  give  us  an  auto,"  Laura  said, 
gravely,  "is  that  Mama  would  weigh  a  ton  if  she  rode 
everywhere.  I  bet  you've  eaten  six  cream-cheese  sand 
wiches,  Mama?  You'll  gain  a  pound  for  each  one!" 

"You'll  be  the  death  of  me,  Lolly,"  her  mother  sighed. 
"  I  only  ate  three.  Well,  I'll  stay  a  little  longer,  Ellen,  and 
walk  part  way  home  with  this  child.  She's  a  perfect 
tyrant,"  she  added,  with  tender,  scolding  pride  in  the 
charming  young  creature,  whose  arch  impertinence  was 
irresistible. 

"Take  off  your  coat,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Payton  said, 
patting  her  niece's  hand,  "and  go  and  look  at  my  puzzle 
over  on  the  table.  Five  hundred  pieces!  I'm  afraid  it 
will  take  me  a  week  yet  to  work  it  out ;" — then,  in  an  aside : 
"Laura,  I'm  mortified  that  I  should  have  asked  Mr.  Mait- 
land  the  title  of  that  book  before  you," — Laura  opened 
questioning  eyes; — "so  indelicate  of  Fred  to  tell  him  to 
read  it!  Oh,  here's  Flora  with  the  lemon.  Thank  you, 
Flora.  .  .  .  Laura,,  do  you  know  what  Freddy  is  thinking 
of  doing  now?" 

"Yes,  the  real-estate  business.  It's  perfectly  corking! 
Howard  Maitland  says  he  thinks  she's  simply  great  to 

21 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

do  it.    I  only  wish  I  could  go  into  business  and  earn  some 
money!" 

"My  dear,  if  you  will  save  some  money  in  your  own 
home,  you  will  be  just  as  well  off,"  Mrs.  Childs  said, 
dryly. 

"Better  off,"  Mr.  Weston  ventured,  "but  you  won't 
have  so  much  fun.  This  idea  of  Fred's  is  a  pretty  expen 
sive  way  of  earning  money." 

"You  know  about  it?"  Mrs.  Pay  ton  said,  surprised. 

"Oh,  yes;  she  broke  it  to  me  yesterday." 

"Just  what  is  her  idea?"  Mrs.  Childs  asked,  with  mild 
impatience. 

"Let  me  explain  it,"  Frederick's  man  of  business  said 
.  .  .  and  proceeded  to  put  the  project  into  words  of  three 
letters,  so  to  speak.  Fred  had  hit  on  the  fact  that  there 
are  many  ladies — lone  females,  Mr.  Weston  called  them; 
who  drift  about  looking  for  apartments; — "nice  old  maids. 
I  know  two  of  them  at  this  minute,  the  Misses  Graham, 
cousins  of  mine  in  Grafton.  They  are  going  to  spend  the 
winter  in  town,  and  they  want  a  furnished  apartment.  It 
must  be  near  a  drug-store  and  far  enough  from  an  Epis 
copal  church  to  make  a  nice  walk  on  Sundays — fair  Sun 
days.  And  it  must  be  on  the  street-car  line,  so  that  they 
can  go  to  concerts,  with,  of  course,  a  messenger-boy  to 
escort  them;  for  they  'don't  mean  to  be  a  burden  to  a 
young  man';  that's  me,  I'll  have  you  know!  'A  young 
man'!  When  a  chap  is  forty-six  that  sounds  very  well. 
Fred  proposes  to  find  shelters  for  just  such  people." 

The  two  ladies  were  silent  with  dismay  and  ignorance. 
Laura,  sucking  a  piece  of  lemon,  and  seeing  a  chance  to 

22 


o  r 

ss 


P 


r3 

w  • 

w  • 
^ 

D 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"root,"  said,  "How  bully  to  have  an  office!  I'm  going  to 
make  her  take  me  as  office  boy." 

"The  Lord  only  knows  how  she  got  the  idea,"  Arthur 
Weston  went  on,  "but  it  isn't  entirely  bad.  I  confess  I 
wish  her  ambition  would  content  itself  with  a  post-office 
address,  but  nothing  short  of  a  real  office  will  satisfy  her. 
She  has  her  eye  on  one  in  the  tenth  story  of  the  Sturtevant 
Building;  I  am  on  the  third,  you  know.  But  I  think  she 
can  do  it  all  on  her  allowance,  though  rent  and  advertising 
will  use  up  just  about  all  her  income." 

"I  will  never  consent  to  it,"  Mrs.  Payton  said,  angrily. 
"It  is  absurd,  anyhow!  Freddy,  to  hunt  up  houses  for 
elderly  ladies — Freddy,  of  all  people !  She  knows  no  more 
about  houses,  or  housekeeping,  than — than  that  fire 
screen  !  Just  as  an  instance,  I  happened  to  tell  her  that  I 
couldn't  remember  whether  I  had  seventy-two  best  towels 
and  eighty-four  ordinary  towels,  or  the  other  way  round; 
I  was  really  ashamed  to  have  forgotten  which  it  was,  and 
I  said  that  as  soon  as  I  got  time  I  must  count  them.  (Of 
course,  I  have  the  servants'  towels,  too;  five  dozen  and 
four,  with  red  borders  to  distinguish  them.)  And  Freddy 
was  positively  insulting!  She  said  women  whose  minds 
had  stopped  growing  had  to  count  towels  for  mental  ex 
ercise.  When  I  was  a  girl,  I  should  have  offered  to  count 
the  towels  for  my  mother!  As  for  her  finding  apart 
ments  for  elderly  ladies,  I  would  as  soon  trust  a — a 
baby!  Do  you  mean  the  Mason  Grahams,  Mr.  Weston? 
Miss  Eliza  and  Miss  Mary?  Mama  knows  them.'  You've 
met  them,  too,  haven't  you,  Bessie?  Well,  I  can  only  say 
that  I  should  be  exceedingly  mortified  to  have  the  Misses 

23 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Graham  know  that  any  Payton  girl  was  behaving  in  such 
an  extraordinary  manner  The  real-estate  business !  She 
might  as  well  go  out  as  a  servant  " 

"She  would  make  more  money  as  a  cook."  he  admitted. 
But  he  could  not  divert  the  stream  of  hurt  and  angry  ob 
jections.  Once  Mrs.  Childs  said  to  tell  Fred  her  uncle 
William  would  say  it  was  perfect  nonsense;  and  once 
Laura  whispered  to  Mr.  Weston  that  she  thought  it  would 
be  great  sport  to  hunt  flats  for  flatlings;  to  which  he 
whispered  back:  "Shoal.  'Ware  shoal,  Laura." 

There  were  many  shoals  in  the  distressed  argument  that 
followed,  and  even  Arthur  Weston's  most  careful  steering 
could  not  save  some  bumps  and  crashes.  In  the  midst  of 
them  the  car  came  clattering  down  the  street,  and  after 
a  while  went  clattering  back;  and  still  the  three  elders 
wrangled  over  the  outlaw's  project,  and  Laura,  sitting  on 
the  arm  of  her  mother's  chair,  listened,  giggling  once  in  a 
while,  and  saying  to  herself  that  Mr.  Weston  was  a  perfect 
lamb — for  there  was  no  doubt  about  it,  he,  too,  was 
"rooting"  for  Fred. 

"I  must  go,"  Mrs.  Childs  said,  at  last,  in  a  distressed 
voice.  "No,  Lolly,  we  haven't  time  to  walk;  we  must 
take  the  car.  Oh,  Ellen,  I  meant  to  ask  you:  can't  you 
join  my  bridge  club?  There's  going  to  be  a  vacancy,  and 
I'm  sure  you  can  learn — " 

"Oh,  my  dear,  I  couldn't  possibly!  I'm  so  busy;  I 
haven't  a  minute — " 

"Well,  think  it  over,"  Mrs.  Childs  urged.  "And,  Nelly 
dear,  I  know  it  will  be  all  right  about  Fred.  I'm  sure 
William  would  say  so.  Don't  worry!" 

24 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

But  when  the  door  closed  upon  the  escaping  aunt  and 
the  sympathizing  cousin,  poor  Mrs.  Payton's  worry  over 
flowed  into  such  endless  details  that  at  last  her  hearer 
gave  up  trying  to  comfort  her.  When  he,  too,  made  his 
escape,  he  was  profoundly  fatigued.  His  plea  that  Fred- 
erica  should  be  allowed  to  burn  her  fingers  so  that  she 
might  learn  the  meaning  of  fire  had  not  produced  the 
slightest  effect.  To  everything  he  said  Mrs.  Payton  had 
opposed  her  outraged  taste,  her  wounded  love,  her  fixed 
belief  in  the  duty  of  youth  to  age.  When  he  ventured  to 
quote  that 

"  .    .    .it  was  better  youth 
Should  strive,  through  acts  uncouth, 
Towards  making,  than  repose  on  aught  found  made," 

she  said  poetry  was  all  very  well,  but  that,  perhaps,  if 
the  poet  or  poetess  who  wrote  that  had  had  a  daughter, 
they  would  think  differently.  When  she  was  reminded 
that  she,  too,  had  had  different  ideas  from  those  of  her 
parents,  she  said,  emphatically,  never! — except  in  things 
where  they  had  grown  a  little  old-fashioned. 

"  I  don't  believe,  when  I  was  a  girl,  I  ever  crossed  Mama 
in  anything  more  important  than  in  little  matters  of  dress 
or  furnishings.  .  .  .  Oh,  do  look  at  my  puzzle  before 
you  go!" 

But  Arthur  Weston,  almost  dizzy  with  the  endless 
words,  had  fled.  Down-stairs,  while  he  hunted  for  his 
hat  and  coat,  he  paused  to  draw  a  long  breath  and  throw 
out  his  arms,  as  if  he  would  stretch  his  cramped  mind,  as 
well  as  his  muscles,  stiffened  by  long  relaxing  among  the 
cushions  of  the  big  arm-chair. 
3  25 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"  Is  there  anything  in  this  world  duller  than  the  pronun- 
ciamento  of  a  dull  woman!"  he  said  to  himself.  On  the 
street,  for  sheer  relief  of  feeling  the  cool  air  against  his 
face,  instead  of  the  warm  stillness  of  Mrs.  Payton's  sitting- 
room,  he  did  not  hail  the  approaching  car,  but  strolled 
aimlessly  along  the  pavement,  sticky  with  fog. 

"I  wonder  if  she  talks  in  her  sleep?"  he  said.  "I  don't 
believe  she  ever  stops!  How  can  Fred  stand  it?"  He 
knew  he  couldn't  stand  it  himself.  "I'd  sell  pop-corn  on 
the  street  corner,  to  get  away  from  it — and  from  Andy's 
old  stovepipe!"  It  occurred  to  him  that  the  ideals  set 
forth  in  Mrs.  Payton's  ceaseless  conversation  were  of  the 
same  era  as  the  hat..  "But  the  hat  would  fit  Fred  best," 
he  thought — "Hello!"  he  broke  off,  as,  straining  back  on 
the  leash  of  an  exasperated  Scotch  terrier,  a  girl  came 
swinging  around  the  corner  of  the  street  and  caromed  into 
him  so  violently  that  he  nearly  lost  his  balance. 

"Grab  him,  will  you?"  she  gasped;  and  when  Mr. 
Weston  had  grabbed,  and  the  terrier  was  sprawling  ab 
jectly  under  the  discipline  of  a  friendly  cuff  on  his  nose, 
she  got  her  breath,  and  said,  panting,  "Where  do  you 
spring  from?" 

It  was  Frederica  Pay  ton,  her  short  serge  skirt  splashed 
with  mud,  and  a  lock  of  hair  blown  across  her  eyes.  "  He's 
a  wretch,  that  pup!"  she  said.  "I'll  give  him  to  you  for 
a  present." 

"  I  wouldn't  deprive  you  of  him  for  the  world!"  he  pro 
tested,  in  alarm.  "Here,  let  me  have  the  leash." 

She  relinquished  it,  and  they  walked  back  together 
toward  Payton  Street,  Zip  shambling  meekly  at  their  heels. 

26 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Well,"  she  said,  thrusting  a  confiding  arm  in  his, 
"were  you  able  to  move  her?  Or  did  she  turn  Aunt 
Bessie  loose  on  you,  too?  I  knew  Aunt  Bessie  was  to  be 
asked  to  the  funeral.  I  suppose  she  talked  anti-suffrage, 
and  quoted  'my  William'  every  minute?  Aunt  Bessie 
hasn't  had  an  idea  of  her  own  since  the  year  one!  Isn't 
it  queer  what  stodgy  minds  middle-aged  women  have? 
I  suppose  you  are  about  dead?" 

"I  have  felt  more  lively.  Fred,  why  can't  you  see 
your  mother's  side  of  it?" 

"Why  can't  she  see  my  side  of  it?" 

"  But  she  thinks— " 

"But  I  think!  What  I  object  to  in  Mother  is  that  she 
wants  me  to  think  her  thoughts.  Apart  from  the  ques 
tion  of  hypocrisy,  I  prefer  my  own."  As  she  spoke,  the 
light  of  a  street  lamp  fell  full  on  her  face — a  wolfish,  un- 
humorous  young  face,  pathetic  with  its  hunger  for  life; 
he  saw  that  her  chin  was  twitching,  and  there  was  a  wet 
gleam  on  one  flushed  cheek.  "Besides,"  she  said,  "I 
simply  won't  go  on  spending  my  days  as  well  as  my  nights 
in  that  house.  You  don't  know  what  it  means  to  live  in 
the  same  house  with — with — " 

"I  wish  you  were  married,"  he  said,  helplessly;  "that's- 
the  best  way  to  get  out  of  that  house." 

She  laughed,  and  squeezed  his  arm.  "You  want  to> 
get  off  your  job?"  she  said,  maliciously;  "well,  you  can't. 
I'm  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  and  you'll  have  to  carry  me 
on  your  back  for  the  rest  of  your  life.  No  marriage  in 
mine,  thank  you!" 

They  were  sauntering  along  now  in  the  darkness,  her 

27 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

arm  still  in  his,  and  her  cheek,  in  her  eagerness,  almost 
touching  his  shoulder;  her  voice  was  flippantly  bitter: 

"I  don't  want  a  man;   I  want  an  occupation  I" 

"But  it  isn't  necessary,  Fred.  And  besides,  there  are 
home  duties." 

"In  our  house?  Name 'em!  Shall  I  make  the  soap,  or 
wait  on  the  table  and  put  Flora  out  of  a  job?  Where 
people  have  any  money  at  all,  'home  duties/  so  far  as 
girls  are  concerned,  are  played  out.  Machinery  is  the 
cuckoo  that  has  pushed  women  out  of  the  nest  of  domes 
ticity.  I  made  that  up,"  she  added,  with  frank  vanity. 
"I  haven't  a  blessed  thing  to  do  in  my  good  home — I 
suppose  you  heard  that  I  had  a  'good  home*  ?  which  means 
a  roof,  and  food,  so  far  as  I  can  make  out.  But  as  there 
is  something  besides  eating  and  sleeping  in  this  life,  I  am 
going  to  get  busy  outside  of  my  'good  home'!" 

He  thought  of  the  towels,  but  only  murmured  vaguely 
that  there  were  things  a  girl  could  do  which  were  not 
quite  so — so — 

"'Unwomanly'?  That's  Mother's  word.  Grand 
mother's  is  'unladylike.'  No,  sir!  I've  done  all  the 
nice,  'womanly'  things  that  girls  who  live  at  home 
have  to  do  to  kill  time.  I've  painted  —  can't  paint 
any  more  than  Zip!  And  I've  slummed.  I  hate  poor 
people,  they  smell  so.  And  I've  taken  singing  lessons; 
I  have  about  as  much  voice  as  a  crow.  My  Suffrage 
League  isn't  work,  it's  fun.  I  might  have  tried  nurs 
ing,  but  Grandmother  had  a  fit;  that  'warm  heart' 
she's  always  handing  out  couldn't  stand  the  idea  of 
relieving  male  suffering.  'What!'  she  said,  'see  a  gen- 

28 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

tleman  entirely  undressed,  in  his  bed!'  I  said,  'It 
would  be  much  more  alarming  to  see  him  entirely 
dressed  in  his  bed'!"  She  paused,  her  eyes  narrowing 
thoughtfully;  "it's  queer  about  Grandmother — I  don't 
really  dislike  her.  She  makes  me  mad,  because  she's  such 
an  awful  old  liar;  but  she's  no  fool." 

"That's  a  concession.  I  hope  you'll  make  as  much  for 
me." 

"They  were  poor  when  she  was  a  girl,  and  she  had  to 
do  things — household  things,  I  mean;  really  had  to.  So 
she  has  stuff  in  her;  and,  in  her  way,  she's  a  good  sport. 
But  she  is  narrow  and  coarse.  'See  a  gentleman  in  his 
bed !'  And  she  thinks  she's  modest!  But  poor  dear  Mother 
simply  died  on  the  spot  when  I  mentioned  nursing.  So  I 
gave  that  up.  Well,  I  have  to  admit  I  wasn't  very  keen  for 
it;  I  don't  like  sick  people,  dressed  or  undressed." 

"They  don't  like  themselves  very  much,  Fred." 

"I  suppose  they  don't,"  she  said,  absently.  "Well, 
nursing  really  wasn't  my  bat,  so  I  have  nothing  against 
Mother  on  that  lay.  But  you  see,  I've  tried  all  the  con 
ventional  things,  and  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  cut  'em 
out.  Business  is  the  thing  for  me.  Business!" 

"But  isn't  there  a  question  of  duty?"  he  said. 

"Do  you  mean  to  Mortimore?  Poor  wretch!  That's 
what  Mother  harps  on  from  morning  to  night.  What 
duty  have  I  to  Mortimore?  I'm  not  responsible  for  him. 
I  didn't  bring  him  here.  Mother  has  a  duty  to  him,  I 
grant  you.  She  owes  him — good  Lord!  how  much  she 
owes  him!  Apologies,  to  begin  with.  What  right  had 
she  and  'old  Andy  Pay  ton'  to  bring  him  into  the  world? 

29 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

I  should  think  they  would  have  been  ashamed  of  them 
selves.  Father  was  old  and  dissipated ;  and  there  was  an 
uncle  of  his,  you  know,  like  Mortimore.  His  'intellect 
was  there/  too,  but  it  was  very  decidedly  'veiled'!  I 
suppose  Mother  worked  the  'veiled  intellect*  off  on  you?" 

They  had  reached  the  Payton  house  by  this  time, 
and  Frederica,  her  hand  on  the  gate,  paused  in  the  rainy 
dusk  and  looked  into  Arthur  Weston's  face,  with  angry, 
unabashed  eyes.  "  Don't  talk  to  me  about  a  duty  to 
Mortimore!" 

"I  meant  a  duty  to  your  mother.  Think  of  what  you 
owe  your  mother." 

''What  do  I  owe  her?  Life!  Did  I  ask  for  life?  Was 
I  consulted?  Before  I  am  grateful  for  life,  you've  got 
to  prove  that  I've  liked  living.  So  far,  I  haven't.  Who 
would,  with  Mortimore  in  the  house?  When  I  was  a 
child  I  couldn't  have  girls  come  and  see  me  for  fear  he 
would  come  shuffling  about."  He  saw  her  shoulders 
twitch  with  the  horror  of  that  shuffling.  "It  makes  me 
tired,  this  rot  about  a  child's  gratitude  and  duty  to  a 
parent!  It's  the  other  way  round,  as  I  look  at  it;  the 
parent  owes  the  child  a  lot  more  than  the  child  owes  the 
parent.  Did  'old  Andy'  and  Mama  bring  me  into  this 
world  for  my  pleasure?  You  know  they  didn't.  'Duty 
to  parents' — that  talk  won't  go  down,"  she  said,  harshly, 
and  snapped  the  gate  shut  between  them. 

He  looked  at  her  helplessly.  She  was  wrong,  but  much 
of  what  she  had  said  was  right, — or,  rather,  accurate. 
But  when,  in  all  the  history  of  parenthood,  had  there  been 
a  time  when  children  accused  their  fathers  and  mothers 

30 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

of  selfishness,  and  cited  their  own  existence  as  a  proof  of 
that  selfishness!  "Your  mother  will  be  very  lonely,"  he 
said.  • 

She  shook  her  head.  "Mother  doesn't  need  me  in  the 
least.  A  puzzle  of  a  thousand  pieces  is  a  darned  sight 
more  interesting  than  I  am." 

"You  are  a  puzzle  in  one  piece,"  he  said. 

"I'm  not  as  much  use  to  Mother  as  Father's  old  silk 
hat  down  in  the  hall;  I  never  scared  a  burglar  yet. 
I  tell  you  what,  Mother  and  I  have  about  as  much  in 
common  as — as  Zip  and  that  awful  iron  dog!  Mother 
thinks  she  is  terribly  noble  because  she  devotes  herself 
to  Mortimore.  Mr.  Weston,  she  enjoys  devoting  herself  1 
She  says  she's  doing  her  duty.  I  suppose  she  is,  though  I 
would  call  it  instinct,  not  duty.  Anyhow,  there's  nothing 
noble  about  it.  It's  just  nature.  Mother  is  like  a  cat  or 
a  cow;  they  adore  their  offspring.  And  they  have  a  per 
fect  right  to  lick  'em  all  over,  or  anything  else  that  ex 
presses  cat-love.  But  you  don't  say  they  are  '  noble '  when 
they  lick  'em !  And  cows  don't  insist  that  other  cows  shall 
lick  calves  that  are  not  theirs.  Mortimore  isn't  mine. 
Yes;  that's  where  Mother  isn't  as  sensible  as  a  cow.  She 
can  give  herself  up  all  she  wants  to,  but  she  sha'n't  give 
me  up.  J  won't  lick  Mortimore!"  She  was  quivering, 
and  her  eyes  were  tragic.  "Why,  Flora  has  more  in 
common  with  me  than  Mother,  for  Flora  is  at  least  dis 
satisfied — poor  old  Flora !  Whereas  Mother  is  as  satisfied 
as  a  vegetable.  That's  why  she's  an  anti.  No;  she  isn't 
even  a  vegetable;  vegetables  grow!  Mother's  mind 
stopped  growing  when  her  first  baby  was  born.  Mother 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

and  I  don't  speak  the  same  language.  I  don't  suppose  she 
means  to  be  cruel,"  she  ended,  "but  she  is." 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  you  are  cruel?" 

She  winced  at  that;  he  saw  her  bite  her  lip,  and  for  a 
moment  she  did  not  speak.  Then  she  burst  out:  "That's 
the  worst  of  it.  I  am  cruel.  I  say  things — and  then,  after 
ward,  I  could  kick  myself.  Yet  they  are  true.  What  can 
I  do?  I  tell  the  truth,  and  then  I  feel  as  if  I  had— had 
kicked  Zip  in  the  stomach!" 

"Stop  kicking  Zip  anywhere,"  he  admonished  her;  " it's 
bad  taste." 

"But  if  I  don't  speak  out,  I'll  bust!" 

"Well,  bust,"  he  said,  dryly;  "that's  better  than  kick 
ing  Zip." 

Her  face  broke  into  a  grin,  and  she  leaned  over  the  gate 
to  give  his  arm  a  squeeze.  "I  don't, know  how  I'd  get 
along  without  you,"  she  told  him.  "Darn  that  pup!" 
she  said,  and  dashed  after  Zip's  trailing  leash. 

Arthur  Weston,  looking  after  her,  laughed,  and  waved 
his  hand.  "How  young  she  is!  Well,  I'll  put  the  office 
business  through  for  her." 


CHAPTER  III 

QOMEHOW  or  other  he  did  ''put  the  office  business 
M^  through";  but  the  persuading  of  Mrs.  Pay  ton  was  a 
job  of  many  days.  So  far  as  opinions  went,  he  had  to 
concede  almost  everything;  of  course  Freddy's  project 
was  " absurd";  of  course  "girls  didn't  do  such  things" 
when  Mrs.  Payton  was  a  young  lady; — still,  why  not  let 
Fred  find  out  by  experience  how  foolish  her  scheme  of  self- 
support  was? 

"It  mortifies  me  to  death,"  Mrs.  Payton  moaned. 

"I  don't  like  it  myself,"  he  admitted. 

"What  does  Mr.  Maitland  say  to  it?" 

"She  says  he  says  it's '  corking,' "  Arthur  Weston  quoted ; 
"I  wish  they  would  talk  English!  The  smallness  of  their 
vocabulary  is  dreadfully  stupid.  They  think  it  is  smart 
to  be  laconic,  but  it's  only  boring.  Do  you  think  Fred 
cares  about  Maitland?" 

1 '  I  wish  she  did,  but  she  isn't — human !  Rather  different 
from  my  girlhood  days !  Then,  a  girl  liked  to  have  beaux. 
One  of  my  cousins  had  a  set  of  spoons — she  bought  one 
whenever  she  had  a  proposal.  I  don't  think  Freddy  has 
had  a  single  offer.  I  tell  her  it's  because  she  cheapens 
herself  by  being  so  familiar  with  the  young  men.  Not  an 
offer!  But  I  don't  believe  she's  at  all  mortified.  Well, 

33 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

it's  just  part  of  the  'newness'  of  things.  I  dislike  every 
thing  that  is  new !  I  wish  Freddy  would  get  married."  .  .  . 

"Why,"  Mr.  Weston  pondered,  as,  having  wrung  a  re*- 
luctant  consent  from  Mrs.  Payton,  he  closed  the  door  of 
No.  15  behind  him,  "why  do  we  consider  marriage  the 
universal  panacea?"  But  whether  he  knew  why  or  not, 
he  believed  it  was  a  panacea,  and  even  plotted  awkwardly 
to  administer  it  to  Frederica.  Maitland  was  just  the  man 
for  her;  a  good  fellow,  straight  and  clean,  and  with  money 
behind  him.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  he  could  not  be 
counted  on  to  discourage  Fred's  folly;  indeed,  he  seemed 
immensely  taken  by  all  her  schemes;  the  more  prepos 
terous  she  was,  the  more,  apparently,  he  admired  her. 
He  was  as  full  of  half-baked  ideas  as  Fred  herself!  But 
there  was  this  difference  between  them:  Howard  did  not 
give  you  the  sense  of  being  abnormal;  he  was  only  asi 
nine.  And  every  first-rate  boy  has  to  be  an  ass  before 
he  amounts  to  anything  as  a  man. 

But  Fred  was  not  normal. 

A  week  later,  "F.  Payton"  had  been  painted  on  the  in 
dex  of  the  Sturtevant  Building,  and  Arthur  Weston, 
pausing  as  he  got  out  of  the  elevator,  glanced  at  the  gilt 
letters  with  ironical  eyes.  He  was  about  to  let  the  panels 
of  the  revolving  door  push  him  into  the  street  when  Mr. 
William  Childs  entered  and  hooked  an  umbrella  on  his  arm. 

"Hey!  Weston!  Most  interesting  thing:  do  you  recall 
the  twenty-third  Sonnet?  You  don't?  Begins: 

"As  an  imperfect  actor  on  the  stage'; 

I've  made  a  most  interesting  discovery!" 

34 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

His  prisoner,  saying  despairingly,  "Really?"  looked  for 
a  way  of  escape — but  the  crook  of  the  umbrella  held 
him. 

"In  a  hurry?  Hey?  What?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  some 
other  time."  Then  the  umbrella  was  reversed  and  pointed 
to  the  index.  "Perfec'  nonsense!  What?" 

"Girls  are  very  energetic  nowadays,"  Mr.  Weston  mur 
mured,  rubbing  his  arm. 

"She'd  better  put  her  energy  into  housekeeping!" 

"Then  Mrs.  Payton  would  have  nothing  to  do." 

"Well,  then  let  her  get  married,  and  keep  house  for 
herself, — instead  of  laying  down  the  law  to  her  elders !  She 
instructed  me  who  I  should  vote  for,  if  you  please !  Smith 
is  her  man,  because  he  believes  in  woman  suffrage.  What 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

"I  think  she's  a  good  deal  like  you  or  me,  when  we  want 
a  thing  put  through." 

"No  such  thing!  Smith  is  the  worst  boss  this  state 
ever  had.  I  told  her  so,  and —  Hey,  there!  Stop — I'm 
going  up !"  he  called,  wildly;  and  skipped  into  the  elevator. 
"Tell  her  to  get  married!"  he  called  down  to  Arthur  Wes 
ton,  who  watched  his  ascending  spats,  and  then  let 
the  revolving  door  urge  him  into  the  street.  "There  it  is 
again,"  he  ruminated,  "'get  married.'  But  girls  don't 
marry  for  homes  nowadays,  my  dear  William.  There  are 
no  more  'Clinging  Vines.'  Mrs.  Payton  is  one  of  the 
last  of  them,  and,  Lord!  what  a  blasted  oak  she  clung 
to!"  He  had  an  unopened  letter  from  Mrs.  Payton  in  his 
pocket,  and  as  he  sauntered  along  he  wondered  whether, 
if  it  remained  unopened  for  another  hour  or  two,  he  could 

35 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

He  truthfully  to  her  and  say  he  had  not  received  it  "in 
time"  to  come  and  talk  over  Freddy.  "For  that's  what 
she  wants,  of  course,"  he  thought,  dolefully;  "it's  a  nice 
point  of  conscience.  I'll  go  and  sit  in  the  park  and  think 
it  out.  By  the  time  I  decide,  it  will  be  too  late  to  go — 
and  then  I'll  open  the  letter!  Why  do  women  who  have 
nothing  to  say,  always  write  long  letters?" — he  touched 
the  envelope  with  an  appraising  thumb  and  finger — "eight 
pages,  all  full  of  Freddy's  sins!" 

Rambling  toward  the  park  in  the  warm  November  after 
noon  Arthur  Weston  wondered  just  what  was  the  matter 
with  Fred.  When,  ten  years  before,  he  had  gone  abroad 
to  represent  the  Payton  interests  in  France  (and,  inci 
dentally,  to  cure  a  heart  which  had  been  very  roughly 
handled  by  a  lady  whose  vocation  was  the  collecting  of 
hearts),  Frederica  had  been  a  plain,  boring,  long-legged 
youngster,  who  disconcerted  him  by  her  silent  and  per 
sistent  stare.  She  was  then  apparently  like  any  other 
fourteen-year-old  girl — gawky,  dull,  and,  to  a  blighted 
being  of  thirty-six,  entirely  uninteresting.  When  he  came 
home,  nine  years  later  (heart-whole),  to  render  an  account 
of  his  Payton  stewardship,  it  was  to  find  with  dismay  that 
"old  Andy,"  just  deceased,  had  expressed  his  appreciation 
of  services  rendered  by  naming  him  one  of  the  executors 
of  the  Payton  estate,  and  to  find,  also,  that  the  grubby, 
silent  girl  he  had  left  when  he  went  to  Europe  had  shot 
up  into  a  tall,  rather  angular  woman,  no  longer  silent, 
and  most  provokingly  interesting.  She  was  still  plain, 
but  she  had  one  of  those  primitive  faces  which,  while 
sometimes  actually  ugly,  are,  under  the  stress  of  certain 

36 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

emotions,  extraordinarily  handsome.  She  was  never 
pretty;  there  was  too  much  thought  in  the  jutting  lines 
of  her  brow  and  chin,  and  her  cheeks,  smudged  sometimes 
with  red,  sometimes  rigidly  pale,  had  no  dimpling  sug 
gestion  of  a  smile.  Her  gray,  unhumorous  eyes  still  held 
one  by  their  nakedly  direct  gaze,  even  while  a  bludgeon- 
like  truthfulness  of  speech  made  her  hearers  wince  away 
from  her. 

Now,  except  for  her  rather  tiresome  slang,  she  never 
bored  Arthur  Weston;  she  merely  bothered  him — because 
he  was  so  powerless  to  help  her.  He  found  himself  con 
stantly  wondering  about  her;  but  his  wonder  was  always 
good-natured;  it  had  none  of  the  bitterness  which  marked 
the  bewilderment  of  her  elderly  relatives,  or  the  very  freely 
expressed  contempt  of  her  masculine  cousins.  Her  man 
of  business  felt  only  amusement,  and  a  pity  which  made 
him,  at  moments,  ready  to  abet  her  maddest  notions,  just 
to  give  the  wild  young  creature  a  little  comfort.  Yet  he 
never  forgot  Mrs.  Payton's  pain;  for,  no  matter  whether 
she  was  reasonable  or  not,  he  knew  that  Freddy's  mother 
suffered. 

"I'd  like  to  shake  Fred!"  he  said;  "confound  it,  I  run 
with  the  hare  and  hunt  with  the  hounds!" 

In  the  park,  in  his  discouragement  at  the  whole  situ 
ation,  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the  concrete  benches  by  the 
lake,  and  looked  at  the  children  and  nursery-maids,  and  at 
two  swans,  snow-white  on  the  dark  water.  He  wished  he 
could  feel  that  Fred  was  all  right  or  her  mother  all  wrong; 
but  both  were  right,  and  both  were  wrong.  Nevertheless, 
he  realized  that  Fred's  suffering  moved  him  more  than 

37 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Mrs.  Pay  ton's.  Think  of  having  the  "veiled  intellect" 
in  the  ell,  "shuffling  round"  all  the  time!  "But  that's 
life,"  he  reminded  himself.  Duty  handcuffs  all  of  us  to 
our  relations.  Look  at  the  historic  Aunt  Adelaide,  who 
wouldn't  take  any  of  her  beaux — there  were  more  of  them 
every  time  Mrs.  Payton  talked  of  Fred's  shortcomings! 
Aunt  Adelaide  had  turned  her  beaux  down  because  of 
this  thing  called  Duty,  a  word  which  apparently  conveyed 
nothing  whatever  to  the  mind  of  her  grandniece  Miss 
Frederica  Payton,  who,  however,  had  her  own  word — 
Truth.  A  word  which  had  once  caused  her  to  describe 
Aunt  Adelaide's  self-immolation  as  "damned  silly." 

Mr.  Weston,  looking  idly  at  the  swans  curving  their 
necks  and  thrusting  their  bills  down  into  the  black  water, 
felt  that  though  Fred's  taste  was  vile,  her  judgment  was 
sound — it  was  silly  for  Aunt  Adelaide  to  sacrifice  herself 
on  the  altar  of  a  being  absolutely  useless  to  society.  Then 
he  thought,  uneasily,  of  the  possible  value  to  Aunt  Ade 
laide's  character  of  self-sacrifice.  "No,"  he  decided, 
"self-sacrifice  which  denies  common  sense  isn't  virtue;  it's 
spiritual  dissipation!" 

Then  his  mind  drifted  to  Laura  Childs;  Laura  was 
not  so  hideously  truthful  as  Fred,  and  her  conceit  was  not 
quite  so  obvious;  yet  she,  too,  was  of  the  present — full  of 
preposterous  theories  for  reforming  the  universe!  Her 
activities  overflowed  the  narrow  boundaries  of  domesticity , 
just  as  Fred's  did;  she  went  to  the  School  of  Design,  and 
perpetrated  smudgy  charcoal-sketches;  she  had  her  com 
mittees,  and  her  clubs,  every  other  darned,  tiresome  thing 
that  a  tired  man,  coming  home  from  business,  shrinks  from 

•  38 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

hearing  discussed,  as  he  would  shrink  from  the  noises  of 
his  shop  or  factory.  '"The  new  wine's  foaming  flow' ! — 
I  should  think  Billy-boy  would  spank  her,"  Weston 
thought,  sympathetically.  Furthermore,  Laura  detected, 
with  affectionate  contempt,  the  weak  places  in  her  elder's 
armor  of  pompous  authority.  He  had  heard  her  take  off 
her  father's  "perfec'  nonsense" !  Her  comments  upon  her 
mother's  lazy  plumpness  were  as  accurate  as  they  were 
disrespectful.  Imagine  girls  back  in  the  '70*8,  or  even  the 
'8o's,  doing  such  things!  Yet  Laura  differed,  somehow, 
from  Fred;  she  was — he  couldn't  formulate  it.  He  looked 
absently  at  the  babies,  and  the  nursery-maids,  and  then 
the  dim  idea  took  shape:  you  could  think  of  Laura  and 
babies  together,  but  a  baby  in  Frederica's  arms  was  an 
anomaly.  Why?  After  all,  she  was  a  female  thing;  you 
ought  to  be  able  to  picture  her  with  a  baby.  But  you 
couldn't.  "I  wish,"  Arthur  Weston  began; — but  before 
he  could  decide  exactly  what  he  wished,  out  of  the  brown 
haze  across  the  park  came  young  Maitland,  swinging 
along,  as  attractive  a  chap  as  you  would  see  in  a  day's 
work.  He  hailed  the  older  man  joyously,  and,  standing  up 
before  him  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  began  to  josh 
him  unmercifully. 

"Is  She  late?  I  bet  She's  jealous  of  all  these  dames 
with  white  caps  on!  You  should  choose  a  more  secluded 
spot." 

"She  is  very  late,  Howard,  and  she  will  be  later.  She 
has  got  to  have  little  curls  in  the  back  of  her  neck,  and  be 
afraid  of  sitting  here  without  a  chaperon.  And  she  must 
have  rubbers  on,  because  there  is  no  surer  way  of  taking 

39 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

cold  than  by  having  damp  feet.  And  she  must  do  all 
that  all  her  great-aunts  have  done.  I  won't  accept  her 
on  any  other  terms.  So  you  see,  I  shall  have  to  wait  some 
time  for  her.  In  fact,  I  have  given  her  up.  Sit  down.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you." 

Maitland  sat  down,  and  said  he  thought  one  of  those 
hoop-skirted,  ringleted  damsels  would  be  a  good  deal  of  a 
peach.  "You  see  the  photographs  of  'em  in  old  albums, 
and  they  certainly  were  pretty  things." 

"Howard,  Freddy  Payton's  going  into  business.  Did 
you  know  it?" 

"Yes;  she's  a  wonder!" 

"She  is,"  the  other  man  agreed,  dryly. 

"I  was  talking  to  Laura  Childs  about  her  last  night, 
and  she  told  me  how  tough  it  was  for  her  at  home, — you 
know?" 

Mr.  Weston  nodded. 

"And  her  mother  is  an  anti!"  Howard  said,  sympa 
thetically.  "I've  only  seen  Mrs.  Payton  once  or  twice, 
but  it  struck  me  she  was  the  anti  type.  Not  very  exciting 
to  live  with." 

"She  does  show  considerable  cerebral  quietude,"  Wes 
ton  admitted,  chuckling. 

"Did  you  ever  make  a  call  in  the  Payton  house,  and 
see  old  Andy  Payton's  silk  hat  on  the  hat-rack?" 

"I  have.  But  I'm  not  afraid  of  it; — there  are  no 
brains  in  it  now." 

"Well,  I  told  Laura  I  thought  she  was  the  finest  woman 
I  knew,"  Maitland  said,  earnestly. 

"Who?    Lolly?" 

40 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Heavens,  no!  Fred.  She's  no  Victorian  miss,  I  tell 
you  what!" 

"The  Victorians  would  send  her  to  bed  on  bread  and 
water." 

"I  heard  her  make  a  speech  to  those  striking  garment- 
women,"  Fred's  defender  said;  "she  told  'em  to  get  the 
vote,  and  their  wages  would  go  up.  It  was  fine." 

"Whether  it  was  true  is  immaterial?" 

Howard  did  not  go  into  that.  "And  then,  about  mor 
als;  she  talks  to  you  just  like  another  man.  There's  none 
of  this  business  of  pretending  she  doesn't  know  things. 
She  knows  as  much  about  life  as  you  or  I." 

"Oh,  I  don't  pretend  to  know  as  much  as  you,"  Arthur 
Weston  deprecated,  lifting  a  humorously  modest  eyebrow. 

"She  talks  well,  too,  doesn't  she?"  Howard  rambled  on; 
"I  don't  know  what  she's  talking  about  sometimes,  she's 
so  confoundedly  cultivated.  The  other  day  I  said  some 
thing  about  that  nasty  uplift  play  that  they  tried  to  pull 
off  at  the  Penn  Street  Theater;  and  then  I  jerked  myself 
up,  and  sort  of  apologized.  And  Freddy  said,  'Go  ahead; 
what's  eating  you?'  And  I  said,  'Oh,  well,  I  didn't  know 
whether  I  ought  to  speak  of  that  sort  of  thing.'*  And  she 
said,  'Only  the  truth  shall  make  us  free.'  That's  out  of 
the  Bible,  I  believe." 

Mr.  Weston  nodded.  "I  know  the  book.  I've  even 
read  it,  which  is  probably  more  than  either  you  or"  Fred 
have  done.  I  don't  think  it  says  the  truth  shall  make  you 
free — and  easy;  does  it?" 

Howard  laughed,  and  got  on  his  feet.  "I'm  going  to 
beat  up  business  for  her.  I  took  her  round  in  my  car  to 
4  41 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

look  up  apartments  for  those  relations  of  yours.  Why 
doesn't  Mrs.  Payton  have  a  car?  Haven't  they  money 
enough?" 

"Oh,  yes.  But  that  poor  creature,  the  brother,  has 
to  go  out  in  a  carriage.  An  auto  would  excite  him,  I 
suppose." 

"I  see.  I  told  Fred  she  ought  to  have  a  little  motor 
of  her  own,  just  as  a  matter  of  business." 

"Hold  on!"  Frederica's  trustee  remonstrated,  in  alarm. 
"Take  her  in  your  car,  if  you  want  to,  but  please  don't 
suggest  one  for  her.  She'd  have  to  put  a  mortgage  on  her 
office  furniture  to  pay  for  a  week's  gasoline!  Look  here, 
Howard — don't  stand  there  like  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes, 
looking  down  at  me  as  if  I  only  weighed  as  much  as  one 
of  your  legs — tell  me  this :  don't  you  see  that  this  business 
of  Fred's  earning  her  living  is  perfectly  artificial?  She  has 
a  little  income,  and  she  can  live  on  it;  and  when  her 
mother  dies,  she'll  have  all  the  Payton  money.  So  it 
is  entirely  unnecessary  for  her  to  go  to  work,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  fact  that  she  won't  earn  enough  to  buy  her  shoe 
strings." 

"Oh,  but,"  the  young  man  burst  out,  "look  at  the 
principle  involved !  If  you  live  on  inherited  money,  you're 
a  parasite.  I  know  I  do  it  myself,"  he  confessed,  frankly, 
"but  I'm  going  to  work  as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  job.  I'm 
going  in  for  shells.  And  I  believe  in  work  for  a  woman 
just  as  much  as  for  a  man.  The  trouble  is  that  when 
a  girl  has  money,  there  isn't  any  real  work  for  her,  so  she 
has  to  manufacture  an  occupation — like  this  social-service 
stunt  at  the  hospitals  they're  so  hot  on  nowadays.  Joe 

42 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Gould — he's  an  interne — he  told  me  the  most  of  'em  were 
nuisances.  But,  oh,  how  they  enjoy  it!  They  just  lap 
it  up.  It  makes  me  a  little  fatigued  to  hear  'em  talk  about 
it,"  he  said,  yawning.  "  Laura  Childs  doesn't  talk  much, 
but  Gould  says  the  patients  like  to  have  her  come  round, 
because  she's  good  to  look  at.  But  with  most  girls  it  isn't 
real.  And  if  a  girl  doesn't  do  real  things,  if  she  just  amuses 
herself,  she'll  go  stale,  just  like  a  fellow.  Fred  put  that 
up  to  me,"  he  explained,  modestly.  "I  wouldn't  have 
thought  of  it  myself." 

"I  bet  you  wouldn't!"  Arthur  Weston  said;  "but  don't 
you  see?  Fred's  own  occupation  isn't  real." 

"She's  rather  down  on  me  because  I'm  not  in  politics," 
Howard  said,  drolly;  "did  you  ever  notice  that  reformers 
don't  take  other  people's  stunts  very  seriously?  Fred  has 
no  use  for  shells.  Laura  thinks  my  collection  is  great. 
But  Fred  says  that  it's  only  an  amusement." 

"You  might  do  worse,"  the  older  man  told  him;  "but 
never  mind  that.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  why  don't 
some  of  you  fellows  brace  up  and  ask  Freddy  to  marry 
you?" 

"She  wouldn't  look  at  any  of  us.  I  don't  know  any 
man  who  could  keep  up  with  her  mentally!  You  ought 
to  hear  her  talk." 

Mr.  Weston  raised  a  protesting  hand.  "Please!  I've 
heard  her." 

Maitland  laughed  and  strode  off  into  the  dusk,  leaving 
Arthur  Weston  to  sit  and  look  at  the  swans.  The  nursery 
maids  and  perambulators  had  gone;  the  Chinese  pagoda 
on  the  artificial  island  showed  a  sudden  spark  of  light,  and 

43 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

the  arc-lamps, across  the  park  sputtered  into  the  evening 
haze  like  lurching  moons.  The  chill  of  the  water  and  the 
night  made  him  shiver.  That  youngster  was  so  big  and 
up-standing  and  satisfied  with  life !  And  certainly  he  was 
In  love  with  Fred. 

"Then  she'll  be  off  my  hands/'  Fred's  man  of  business 
said;  ' 'what  a  relief !" 

And  life  looked  as  bleak^and  uninteresting  as  the  cold 
dusk  of  the  deserted  park. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  NEVER  see  her  from  morning  till  night,"  Mrs.  Pay- 
ton  said.  "Rather  different  from  my  day!  When  I 
was  a  young  lady,  girls  stayed  indoors  with  their  mothers." 

Mrs.  Payton's  mother,  stroking  her  white  gloves  down 
over  her  knuckly  fingers,  shrugged  her  shoulders:  "You 
didn't  like  'those  days'  so  very  much  yourself,  my  dear. 
But  of  course  Freddy  is  shocking.  It  isn't  that  she  has 
bad  taste — she  has  no  taste!  All  I  hope  is  that  she  won't 
publicly  disgrace  us.  Bessie  Childs  says  that  her  husband 
says  this  business  idea  is  perfect  nonsense." 

The  two  ladies  were  in  the  double  parlor  on  the  left  of 
the  wide  hall  of  No  15.  It  was  a  gloomy  place,  even 
when  the  ailanthus-trees  had  lost  their  leaves ;  the  French 
windows  were  so  smothered  in  plush  and  lace  that  the 
gleam  of  narrow  mirrors  between  them  could  not  lighten  the 
costly  ugliness.  In  its  day  the  room  had  been  very  costly. 
The  carpet,  with  its  scrolls  and  garlands,  the  ebony  cab 
inets,  picked  out  in  gilt — big  and  foolish  and  empty — the 
oil-paintings  in  vast,  tarnished  frames,  must  all  have 
been  very  expensive.  There  was  an  ormolu  clock  on  the 
black  marble  mantelpiece  holding  Time  stationary  at  7.20 
o'clock  of  some  forgotten  morning  or  evening;  the  bronzes 
on  either  side  of  it — a  fisher-maid  with  her  string  of  fish, 

45 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

and  a  hunter  bearing  an  antelope  on  his  shoulders — were 
dulled  by  the  smoky  years.  Opposite  the  fireplace,  against 
the  chocolate-brown  wall -paper,  Andrew  Payton,  on  a 
teakwood  pedestal,  glimmered  in  white  marble  blindness. 
Beside  him,  the  key-board  of  a  grand  piano  was  yellowing 
in  untouched  silence.  The  room  was  so  dim  that  Mrs. 
Holmes,  coming  in  out  of  the  sunshine,  stumbled  over 
a  rug. 

"You  have  such  a  clutter  of  things,  Ellen,"  she  com 
plained,  sharply. 

"It's  lighter  up-stairs,"  Mrs.  Payton  defended  herself. 

"What  did  you  say?    Do  speak  more  distinctly!" 

"  I  said  it  was  lighter  up-stairs.  Come  up,  and  I'll  show 
you  a  puzzle  I've  just  worked  out.  Dreadfully  difficult!" 

But  Mrs.  Holmes  never  went  up-stairs  in  the  Payton 
house;  to  be  sure,  the  door  between  the  sitting-room  and 
the  room  beyond  it  was  always  locked,  but — you  heard 
things.  So  she  said  she  couldn't  climb  the  stairs.  "I'm 
getting  old,  I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  archly. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  very  rheumatic?"  her  daughter  sym 
pathized;  "why  don't  you  try — " 

"Not  at  all!"  the  older  lady  interrupted;  "just  a  little 
stiff.  Mrs.  Dale  said  her  cousin  thought  you  were  my 
sister,"  she  added,  maliciously. 

As  far  as  clothes  went,  the  cousin  might  have  supposed 
Mrs.  Holmes  was  Mrs.  Payton's  daughter — the  skirt  in 
the  latest  ugliness  of  style,  the  high  heels,  the  white  veil 
over  the  elaborate  hair,  were  all  far  more  youthful  than 
the  care-worn  mother  of  Frederica  (and  Mortimore)  would 
have  permitted  herself. 

46 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I've  been  so  dreadfully  busy,"  Mrs.  Holmes  declared; 
"I  meant  to  come  in  yesterday,  but  I  had  a  thousand 
things  to  do!  Bridge  all  afternoon  at  Bessie  Childs's.  I 
played  with  young  Mrs.  Dale.  She  ought  to  get  another 
dressmaker." 

"Did  you  know  Mr.  Dale's  aunt  was  dying?"  Mrs. 
Payton  said. 

Mrs.  Holmes  frowned.  She  was,  as  she  often  said,  a 
very  busy  woman;  she  kept  house,  made  calls,  had 
"fittings,"  shopped,  and  read  the  newspapers.  She  did 
these  things  well  and  thoroughly,  for,  as  her  granddaughter 
had  once  said,  she  "was  no  fool."  She  was  shrewd,  capa 
ble,  energetic,  and  entirely  a  woman  of  the  world.  Her 
daughter's  social  seclusion  and  mental  apathy  amazed 
and  irritated  her.  But  intelligent  and  busy  as  she  was,  she 
had  leisure  for  one  thing:  Fear.  She  never  said  of  what. 
Nor  would  she,  if  she  could  help  it,  allow  the  name  of  her 
Fear  to  be  mentioned.  "I  always  run  away  if  people  talk 
of  unpleasant  things!"  she  used  to  say,  sharply.  The 
mere  reference  to  Mr.  Dale's  aunt  made  her  pull  her 
stole  about  her  shoulders,  and  clutch  for  bags  and  card- 
cases  that  were  always  sliding  off  a  steep  and  slippery  lap. 

"Why,  Mama,  you  mustn't  go,"  Mrs.  Payton  remon 
strated,  "you've  just — " 

"I  only  stopped  a  minute  to  say  that  if  you  don't  keep 
Freddy  in  order,  she  will  disgrace  us  all,"  Mrs.  Holmes 
said,  nervously;  "but  you  keep  talking  about  unpleasant 
things!  I  am  all  heart,  and  I  can't  bear  to  hear  about 
other  people's  troubles." 

Mrs.  Payton  understood;  she  gave  her  mother  a  piti- 

47 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

ful  look.  ("I  believe  she'd  like  to  live  to  be  a  hundred!" 
she  thought;  " whereas,  if  it  wasn't  for  poor  Mortimore 
I'd  be  glad  to  go;  I'm  so — tired.  And  Freddy  wouldn't 
miss  me.")  All  the  while  she  was  talking  in  her  kind 
voice,  of  living,  not  dying;  of  her  intention  of  starting  in 
early  this  year  on  her  Christmas  presents — "I  get  per 
fectly  worn  out  with  them  each  Christmas'"  Of  her 
cook's  impertinence — "servants  are  really  impossible!" 
Of  Flora's  low-spiritedness — "Miss  Carter  says  she's 
simply  wild  to  get  married,  but  I  can't  think  so;  Flora 
is  so  refined." 

"Human  nature  isn't  very  refined,"  Mrs.  Holmes  said. 

"Miss  Carter  says  she  wants  to  take  music  lessons." 

"That's  terribly  refined,"  Mrs.  Holmes  said,  satirically. 

"It's  absurd,"  her  daughter  declared,  with  annoyance; 
"music  lessons!  Rather  different  from  the  time  I  went 
to  housekeeping — then,  servants  worked!  I  gave  Flora 
a  lovely  embroidered  collar  the  other  day;  and  yet,  the 
next  thing  I  knew,  Anne  told  me  she  was  crying  her  eyes 
out  down  in  the  coal-cellar.  I  went  right  down  to  the 
cellar,  and  said,  'You  must  tell  me  what's  the  matter.' 
But  all  I  could  get  out  of  her  was  that  she  was  tired  of 
living.  Miss  Carter  says  Anne  says  that  Flora's  young 
man  has  married  somebody  else,  and  she — " 

"Don't  mumble!  It's  almost  impossible  to  hear  you," 
her  mother  broke  in;  "as  for  servants,  there  are  no  such 
things  nowadays.  They  have  men  callers,  a  thing  my 
mother  never  tolerated!  And  they  don't  dream  of  being 
in  at  ten.  My  seventh  cook  in  five  months  comes  to- 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"  Don't  you  think  you  are  rather  strict — I  mean  about 
hours,  and  beaux,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?  My  three 
all  have  beaux — only  poor  Flora's  don't  seem  very  faith 
ful.  Mama,  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  see  an  aurist? 
You  really  are  a  little — " 

"Not  at  all!  I  hear  perfectly; — except  when  people 
mumble.  And  I  shall  never  change ;  my  way  of  keeping 
house  is  the  right  way,  so  why  should  I  change?" 

"  I  couldn't  keep  my  girls  a  week  if  I  were  as  strict  as 
you,"  Mrs.  Payton  ventured. 

"It  wouldn't  be  much  loss,  my  dear!"  the  older  woman 
said;  she  ran  a  white-gloved  finger  along  the  top  of  the 
piano  beside  her,  and  held  it  up,  with  a  dry  laugh.  "You 
could  eat  off  the  floor  in  my  house;  but  you  never  were 
much  of  a  housekeeper.  However,  I  didn't  come  to  talk 
about  servants;  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I'  am  going  to 
call  on  those  cousins  of  Mr  Weston's,  and  explain  that  at 
any  rate  /  don't  approve  of  my  granddaughter's  going  into 
business!" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't,  either!"  poor  Mrs.  Payton  protested. 
"I  am  dreadfully  distr— " 

"Why  don't  you  tell  her  it  isn't  done?  Why  do  you 
allow  it?"  Mrs.  Holmes  demanded. 

Mrs.  Payton  raised  protesting  hands:  "  'Allow' 
Freddy?" 

"If  you'd  stop  her  allowance,  you'd  stop  her  nonsense. 
That  is  what  I  would  do  if  a  daughter  of  mine  cut  such 
didos!" 

"I  can't — she's  of  age.  You  can't  control  girls  nowa 
days,"  Mrs.  Payton  sighed. 

49 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"She  ought  to  be  married,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes,  clutch 
ing  at  the  back  of  a  gilt  chair  as  she  got  on  to  her 
shaking  old  legs;  "though  I  can't  imagine  any  nice  man 
wanting  to  marry  a  girl  who  talks  as  she  does.  Maria 
Spencer  told  me  she  heard  that  Fred  said  that  men 
ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  marry  unless  they  had  a 
health  certificate." 

Mrs.  Payton  gasped  with  horror.  "Mama!  are  you 
sure?  I  can't  believe —  What  are  we  coming  to?" 

"It  mortified  me  to  death,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes.  ("Oh, 
do  pick  up  that  card-case  for  me !)  I  wish  Arthur  Weston 
would  marry  her,  but  I  suppose  he  never  got  over  that 
Morrison  girl's  behavior?  No;  the  real  trouble  is,  you 
insist  on  living  in  this  out-of-the-way  place!  Oh,  yes,  I 
know;  poor  Mortimore.  Still,  the  men  won't  come  after 
her  here,  because  it  looks  as  if  she  had  no  money — that, 
and  her  queerness.  Really,  you  ought  to  try  to  get  her 
settled.  You  ought  to  move  over  to  the  Hill;  but  you 
love  that  poor,  brainless  creature  up-stairs  more  than  you 
do  Fred!" 

Mrs.  Payton  stiffened.  "I  love  both  my  children  just 
the  same;  and  I  can't  discuss  Mortimore,  Mama,  with 
anybody.  As  for  being  brainless,  Doctor  Davis  always 
said,  'The  intellect  is  there;  but  it  is  veiled.'  "  The  tears 
brimmed  over.  "You  don't  understand  a  mother's  feel 
ings,  Mama." 

Mrs.  Holmes  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  brushed  a 
powdered  cheek  against  her  daughter's  worn  face.  "  Good- 
by.  Of  course,  you  never  take  any  advice — I'm  used  to 
that!  If  I  wasn't  the  warmest-hearted  creature  in  the 

50 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

world  I  should  be  very  cross  with  you.  I  suppose  you 
are  terribly  lonely  without  Freddy?" 

"Oh,  terribly,"  said  Mrs.  Payton. 

When  Mrs.  Holmes  had  gone,  teetering  uncertainly 
down  the  front  steps  to  her  carriage,  Freddy's  mother, 
pausing  a  moment  in  the  hall  to  make  sure  that  Mr.  An 
drew  Pay  ton's  silk  hat  had  been  dusted,  went  heavily  up 
stairs  and  sat  down  in  her  big  cushioned  chair.  She 
wished  that  she  had  something  to  do.  Of  course,  there 
was  that  new  puzzle — but  sometimes  the  thought  of  a 
puzzle  gave  her  a  qualm  of  repulsion,  the  sort  of  re 
pulsion  one  feels  at  the  sight  of  the  drug  that  soothes 
and  disgusts  at  the  same  moment.  The  household 
mending  was  a  more  wholesome  anodyne;  but  there  was 
very  little  of  that;  she  had  gone  all  through  Freddy's 
stockings  the  day  before,  and  found  only  one  thin  place. 
To-day  there  seemed  nothing  to  do  but  sit  in  her  soft 
chair  and  think  of  Freddy's  shocking  talk  and  how  unkind 
Mrs.  Holmes  was  about  Mortimore.  She  knew,  in  the 
bottom  of  her  heart,  that  her  son's  presence  was  pain 
ful  to  everybody  except  herself;  she  knew  that  Freddy 
didn't  like  to  have  people  call,  for  fear  they  might  see 
him,  and  that  her  reluctance  dated  back  to  her  child 
hood.  "But  suppose  she  doesn't  like  it,  what  has  that 
got  to  do  with  it?"  Morty's  mother  thought,  angrily;  "it's 
a  question  of  duty.  Mama  doesn't  seem  to  remember 
that  Freddy  ought  to  do  her  duty!"  It  came  over  Mrs. 
Payton,  with  a  thrill  of  pride,  that  she  herself  had  al 
ways  done  her  duty.  Here,  alone,  with  everything  silent 
on  the  other  side  of  the  bolted  door,  she  could  allow  her- 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

self  to  think  how  well  she  had  done  it!  To  Mortimore, 
first  and  foremost — she  paused  there,  with  a  pang  of 
annoyance  at  her  mother's  words:  "I  do  not  love  him 
best!"  she  declared.  She  did  her  duty  to  Freddy,  just 
as  much  as  to  Morty.  When  Fred  had  scarlet  fever  no 
mother  could  have  been  more  devoted.  She  hadn't  taken 
her  clothes  off  for  four  days  and  nights!  Her  supreme 
dutifulness,  however,  a  dutifulness  of  which  she  had 
always  been  acutely  conscious,  was  in  enduring  Andrew's 
behavior.  "Some  women  wouldn't  have  stood  it,"  she 
thought,  proudly.  But  what  a  good  wife  she  had  been! 
She  had  let  him  have  his  own  way  in  everything.  When  he 
was  cross,  she  had  been  silent.  When  he  was  drunk,  she 
had  wept — silently,  of  course.  When  he  had  done  other 
things,  of  which  anonymous  letters  had  informed  her,  she 
had  still  been  silent; — but  she  had  been  too  angry  to  weep. 
She  shivered  involuntarily  to  think  what  would  have  hap 
pened  if  she  had  not  been  silent — if  she  had  dared  to 
remonstrate  with  him !  For  Andrew  Payton's  temper  had 
been  as  celebrated  as  the  brains  which  had  once  filled  the 
now  empty  hat.  "Some  wives  would  have  left  him," 
she  told  herself;  "but  I  always  did  my  duty!  Nobody 
ever  supposed  that  I — knew."  When  Andrew  died,  and 
her  friends  were  secretly  rejoicing  over  her  release,  how 
careful  she  had  been  to  wear  the  very  deepest  crape!  "I 
didn't  go  out  of  the  house,  even  to  church,  for  three  weeks, 
and  I  didn't  use  a  plain  white  handkerchief  for  two  years," 
she  thought — then  flushed,  for,  side  by  side  with  her  satis 
faction  at  her  exemplary  conduct  was  a  rankling  memory 
— a  memory  which  made  her  constantly  tell  herself,  and 

52 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

everybody  else,  that  she  "loved  both  her  children  just  the 
same."  The  remorse — for  it  amounted  to  that — began  a 
few  weeks  after  Mr.  Payton's  death,  when  Freddy,  listening 
to  her  mother's  pride  in  the  black-bordered  handkerchief, 
had  flung  out:  "If  you  told  the  truth,  you'd  use  a  flag 
for  a  handkerchief,  and  you'd  go  to  church  to  return 
thanks!" 

There  had  been  a  dreadful  scene  between  the  mother 
and  daughter  that  day. 

"As  for  'mourning'  him,"  Andrew  Payton's  daughter 
said,  "you  don't.  It's  a  lie  to  smother  yourself  in  that 
horrid,  sticky  veil.  You  are  mighty  glad  to  get  rid  of 
him!  You  were  as  afraid  as  death  of  him,  and  you  didn't 
love  him  at  all.  All  this  talk  about  'mourning'  is  rot." 

Mrs.  Payton  cowered  as  if  her  daughter  had  struck  her: 
"Oh,  how  can  you  be  so  wicked!" 

"Is  it  wicked  to  tell  the  truth?" 

Mrs.  Payton  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands:  "I  did 
my  duty!  But  do  you  suppose  I've  been  happy?11  Her 
breath  caught  in  a  sob.  "I've  lived  in  hell  all  these  years, 
just  to  make  a  home  for  you!  I  did  my  duty." 

"I  should  have  thought  'duty'  would  have  made  you 
leave  him,"  Frederica  said;  "hell  isn't  a  very  good  home 
for  a  child."  She  was  triumphantly  aware  that  she  had 
said  something  smart ;  her  mother's  wincing  face  admitted 
it.  "I  suppose  you  were  afraid  to  make  a  break  while  he 
was  alive,"  she  said,  "but  why  not  tell  the  truth  now?" 

Already  the  consciousness  of  self-betrayal  had  swept 
over  Andy  Payton's  wife;  her  face  flamed  with  anger. 
"You  had  no  business  to  make  me  say  a  thing  like  that! 

53 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

You  only  tell  the  truth  to  hurt  my  feelings.  You  are 
just  like  Andrew!"  She  looked  straight  at  her  daughter, 
her  eyes  fierce  with  candor.  "I  love  Mortimore  best," 
she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

For  a  single  instant  they  stared  at  each  other  like  two 
strangers.  The  mother  was  the  first  to  come  to  herself. 
"I — I  didn't  mean  that,  Freddy.  I  love  you  both  alike. 
But  it  was  wicked  to  speak  so  of  your  father." 

"I  was  a  beast  to  hurt  your  feelings!"  Frederica  said; 
"and  I  don't  in  the  least  mind  your  loving  Mortimore 
best.  But  what  I  said  about  Father  is  true;  his  being  my 
father  doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  he  was  horrid.  Mother, 
you  know  he  was  horrid!  Don't  let's  pretend,  at  any  rate 
to  each  other." 

Her  face  twitched  with  eagerness  to  be  understood;  she 
tried  to  put  her  arm  around  her  mother;  but  Mrs.  Payton 
turned  a  rigid  cheek  to  her  lips;  and  instantly  Fred  lapsed 
back  into  contempt  of  unreality.  The  fact  was,  the  deed 
was  done.  Each  had  told  the  other  the  truth.  Mother 
and  daughter  had  both  seen  the  flash  of  the  blade  of  fact 
as  it  cut  pretense  between  them.  Never  again  would 
Mrs.  Payton' s  vanity  over  duty  done  dare  to  raise  its 
head  in  her  daughter's  presence:  Freddy  knew  that,  so 
far  as  her  married  life  went,  duty  had  been  cowardly  ac 
quiescence.  Never  again  would  Frederica  be  able  to  fling 
at  her  mother  her  superior  morality:  Mrs.  Payton  knew 
she  was  cruel,  knew  she  was  "just  like  her  father."  .  .  . 
Like  Andy  Payton !  She  ground  her  teeth  with  disgust,  but 
she  could  not  deny  it.  She  was  so  truthful  that  she  saw 
the  Truth;  saw  her  father's  intelligence  in  her  own  clear 

54 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

mind;  his  ability  in  hers;  his  meanness  in  her  ruthless 
smartness  in  proving  a  point.  She  hated  him  for  these 
things — but  she  hated  herself  more. 

Mrs.  Payton  told  Arthur  Weston  of  this  revealing  scene ; 
but  her  confession  confined  itself  to  her  remorse  for  having 
said  she  loved  one  child  more  than  the  other.  "  Of  course 
I  love  them  just  exactly  the  same,  but  Freddy  was  wicked 
to  speak  disrespectfully  of  her  father." 

Then  Frederica  poured  her  contrition  into  his  pitying 
ears. 

"  I  was  a  beast,  but  I  was  not  a  liar." 

"It  isn't  necessary  to  be  a  beast,  to  be  truthful,"  he 
reminded  her. 

"I  made  her  cry,"  she  said.  "Father  used  to  do  that. 
Do — do  you  think  I'm  like  him?" 

"Like  your  father?  Good  Lord,  no!"  he  said,  in  hor 
rified  haste;  then  apologized.  "I — I  mean,  Mr.  Payton 
was  a  very  able  man,  I  had  great  respect  for  his  brains; 
but  he  was — severe." 

"  'Severe'?  Well,  I'm  'severe,'  I  suppose?  No;  the 
trouble  with  me  is,  I'm  hideously  truthful — and  I  like 
to  be" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ridiculous  part  of  Fred's  dash  for  freedom  was 
that  she  actually  picked  up  a  client  or  two !  Of  course, 
her  commissions  did  not  quite  pay  for  the  advertising  that 
brought  the  clients — "But  what  difference  does  that 
make?"  she  demanded. 

Arthur  Weston,  who  had  come  up  to  the  "office"  on 
the  tenth  floor  to  check  over  a  bill  for  her,  said,  "Oh,  no 
difference,  of  course.  You  remind  me  of  the  old  lady, 
Fred,  who  bought  eggs  for  twenty-four  cents  a  dozen  and 
sold  them  for  twenty-three  cents.  And  when  asked  how 
she  could  afford  to  do  that,  said  it  was  because  she  sold 
so  many  of  them." 

"I  don't  care,"  she  said,  doggedly;  "when  you  begin 
you've  got  to  put  up  something.  I'm  putting  up  my  time. 
If  I  come  out  even — " 

"You  won't,"  he  prophesied. 

"Your  old  dames  are  coming  to-morrow,"  she  said. 
She  had  fastened  Zip  to  the  umbrella-rack  and  was  sitting 
on  her  office  table,  showing  a  candid  and  very  pretty  leg 
in  a  thin  silk  stocking ;  she  looked  at  him  with  the  unself- 
conscious  gaze  of  a  child. 

"They  are  to  arrive  at  five,  and  I'm  scared  to  death  for 
fear  that  the  walk  to  the  Episcopal  church  is  six  feet  short 

56 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

of  half  a  mile !  I  wish  I  had  a  motor  to  run  around  and 
look  at  places.  Don't  you  think,  as  an  investment,  I 
could  have  a  motor?" 

"I  do  not!"  he  said.  "Maitland  made  that  alarming 
suggestion,  and  I  told  him  not  to  put  such  ideas  into  your 
head." 

"He's  on  the  track  of  three  Ohio  girls  who  want  five 
rooms  and  a  bath,  for  light  housekeeping,  furnished. 
He's  going  to  haul  me  round  in  his  go-cart  to  look  at  some 
flats.  Trouble  is,  I  can't  charge  my  full  commission — 
they're  poor.  Students  at  the  College  of  Elocution.  Why 
do  girls  always  want  to  elocute?" 

"Why  do  they  want  to  run  real-estate  offices?  It's  the 
same  thing.  Strikes  me  Howard  hauls  you  round  in  his 
go-cart  a  good  deal." 

She  shrieked  with  laughter.  "Nothing  doing!  Nothing 
doing !  I  see  your  little  hopeful  thought.  You've  got  me 
on  your  shoulders,  like  the  aged  Anchises,  and  you  hoped 
that  Howard  might  come  to  the  rescue.  Mr.  Weston,  I 
suppose  your  aunts,  or  cousins,  or  whatever  they  are* 
think  I'm  a  freak?" 

"Well,  you  are,"  he  said;  "I'll  tell  you  what  they  think: 
they  think  (not  having  seen  you)  that  you  are  a '  sweet  girl 
who  is  doing  something  very  kind  for  two  old  ladies.'" 

"  A  '  sweet  girl ' !    Me,  a  '  sweet  girl '  ?" 

"  Don't  worry.    You're  not." 

"I  suppose  they  think  I  am  doing  it  to  please  you? 
Very  likely  they  think  I'm  trying  to  catch  you,"  she  said, 
chuckling. 

He  looked  at  her  drolly:  "Well,  you've  caught  me. 
5  57 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

You  are  a  perfect  nuisance,  Fred,  but  you  do  serve  to 
kill  time." 

She  slipped  down  from  the  table,  her  high-heeled,  low- 
cut  shoes  clicking  sharply  on  the  floor,  and,  going  over  to 
the  window,  peered  down  into  the  canon  of  the  street. 
Zip  scrabbled  up,  leaped  the  length  of  his  leash,  jumped, 
pounced,  then  put  his  nose  on  the  floor  between  his  paws 
and  wagged  his  hindquarters.  "No,  sir!"  she  told  him, 
"not  yet!"  And  he  crouched  down  again,  patiently  curl 
ing  a  furtive  tongue  over  the  toe  of  her  shoe.  "Howard 
was  to  come  round  for  me  in  his  car  at  four,"  she  said. 
"Zip!  Stop  licking  my  shine  off !  I  hate  unpunctual  peo 
ple.  ' '  Coming  back  to  her  caller,  she  fumbled  in  the  pocket 
of  her  coat  for  her  cigarette-case.  "Have  one?" 

He  helped  himself  and  approved  the  quality. 

"I  offered  Mr.  Tait  one,"  she  said,  "and  his  hair  began 
to  curl!" 

"My  hair  is  perfectly  straight." 

"That's  the  beauty  of  you.  Yet  T£te-a-tete  couldn't 
have  given  a  reason  for  his  horror,  to  save  his  life." 

"I  could." 

She  was  plainly  disappointed  in  him.  "  I  thought  better 
of  you  than  that !  There's  no  '  right '  or  '  wrong '  about  it." 

"No,  of  course  there  isn't,"  he  agreed;  and  she  ap 
plauded  him.  "But  there  is  a  very  excellent  reason,  all 
the  same,  why  a  girl  shouldn't  smoke." 

"What?"  she  demanded. 

"Makes  her  less  agreeable  to  kiss." 

"Well,  I'll  wait  till  somebody  wants  to  kiss  me,"  she 
said,  gayly;  "when  they  do,  I'll  give  up  cigarettes — and 

58 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

take  to  a  pipe!"  She  pulled  down  the  top  of  her  desk  and 
slipped  the  loop  of  the  puppy's  leash  on  her  wrist.  "As 
for  smoking,"  she  confessed,  "I'm  not  awfully  keen  on  it. 
Sometimes  I  forget  to  open  my  cigarette-case  for  days! 
But  I  have  just  as  much  right  to  do  it  as  you  have." 

The  defiance  made  him  laugh.  "That's  like  your  sex, 
insisting  that,  because  we  make  fools  of  ourselves,  you 
will  make  fools  of  yourselves.  That's  your  principle  in 
demanding  an  unlimited  suffrage." 

But  Fred  was  not  listening.  "I'm  afraid  you  must 
clear  out,"  she  said;  "Howard  must  be  on  hand  by  this 
time." 

"I  wonder  when  you'll  earn  the  cost  of  that  desk?"  he 
mused,  and  looked  about  the  office,  with  its  one  big  win 
dow  that  muffied  the  roar  of  the  city  ten  stories  below,  and 
framed,  black  against  a  lowering  sky,  the  far-off  circle  of 
the  hills.  It  was  a  gaunt  little  room,  with  its  desk  and 
straight  chairs,  and  its  walls  hung  with  real-estate  maps. 
A  vision  of  Mrs.  Payton's  fire-lit  upholstery  flashed  into 
his  mind,  and  made  him  smile.  What  a  contrast!  "But 
this  interests  Fred,"  he  thought;  "and  the  petticoated 
easy-chairs  don't.  And  the  only  thing  that  makes  life 
endurable  is  an  interest."  He  wondered,  vaguely,  what 
interests  he  had  himself.  Certainly  his  trustee  accounts 
were  not  very  vital  interests !  It  occurred  to  him,  watching 
Fred  thrust  some  long  and  vicious  pins  through  a  very 
rakish  hat,  that  when  she  settled  down  and  married  Mait- 
land  he  would  lose  a  distinct  interest.  "I'll  have  to  trans 
fer  it  to  her  infants,"  he  thought,  cynically;  "I  suppose 
I'll  be  godfather  to  the  lot  of  'em,  and  she  and  Howard,  in 

59 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

the  privacy  of  connubial  bliss,  will  speculate  as  to  how 
much  I'll  leave  'em —  Damned  if  I  leave  them  any 
thing!"  he  ended,  with  a  flare  of  temper. 

"Come  on,"  said  Fred. 

They  went  down-stairs  together,  and  waited  in  the 
cold  for  five  minutes  until  Howard  came,  brakes  on, 
against  the  curb,  in  a  great  hurry,  but  not  in  the  least 
apologetic, 

"I  stopped  to  look  at  some  shells  at  Beasley's,"  he 
vouchsafed  as  Fred  was  climbing  into  the  car;  then 
opened  his  throttle,  and  Mr.  Weston,  standing  on  the 
corner,  watched  them  leap  away  down  the  crowded  street. 

"Look  at  him  trying  to  cut  in  ahead  of  everybody!"  he 
reflected;  "but  she  thinks  he's  perfect." 

If  Fred  believed  her  cavalier  perfect,  that  did  not  keep 
her  from  criticizing  his  driving.  Howard,  too,  was  entirely 
frank,  and  told  her  her  nose  was  red.  After  that  they 
talked  about  the  Ohio  girls,  and  when  they  reached  South 
G  Street,  leaving  Zip  on  guard  in  the  auto,  he  went  all 
over  the  flat  with  her,  and  said  the  kitchenette  was  a 
slick  place,  but  the  bath-room  was  small — "and  dark,"  he 
objected,  following  her  in,  and  peering  about  at  the  plumb 
ing.  Then  they  decided  that  they  had  just  time  to  whi2 
around  to  the  apartment  she  had  arranged  for  Arthui 
Weston's  cousins.  "They  are  to  come  to-morrow,"  she 
said. 

If  Mrs.  Payton  had  seen  her  Freddy  that  afternoon,  she 
would  hardly  have  known  her.  No  girl  of  Mrs.  Payton's 
youth  could  have  been  more  efficient  as  to  dust ;  and  cer 
tainly  few  young  ladies  of  that  golden  time  would  have 

60 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

made  better  arrangements  for  storing  away  the  kindling, 
nor  would  they  have  trampled  a  negligent  plumber  more 
completely  underfoot  than  did  Frederica  Payton.  She 
had  sent  Howard  flying  in  his  car  to  bring  the  man,  and 
she  stood  over  him  until  he  finished  his  job ;  then  packed 
him  and  his  kit  out  of  the  apartment  and  washed  his 
horrid  finger-marks  off  the  white  paint.  In  the  parlor,  she 
sat  down  on  the  sofa,  drawing  up  her  feet  and  snuggling 
back  against  the  cushions. 

''This  is  mighty  nice,"  she  said,  looking  around  with  a 
satisfaction  as  old  as  the  cave-dweller's  who  hung  skins 
on  dripping  walls  and  spread  rushes  over  stone  floors. 

Howard,  sprawling  luxuriously  in  an  arm-chair,  re 
garded  her  with  admiration.  "It's  funny  that  you  can 
do  this  sort  of  thing,"  he  waved  an  appreciative  hand  at 
the  details  of  curtains  and  table-covers. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I'm  in  it  for  loot.  If 
I'd  thought  they'd  wanted  a  silk  hat  in  the  hall,  I  would 
have  got  it  for  'em." 

Howard  roared.  "That's  where  a  woman's  instinct 
comes  in.  I  couldn't  have  fussed." 

"Cut  out  woman's  instinct,"  she  commanded;  "there's 
no  such  thing.  To  try  to  please  a  customer  is  only  com 
mon  sense.  As  for  me,  I  hate  all  this  domestic  drool  of 
tidies."  And  they  both  believed  that  she  did! 

They  sat  there — or,  at  least,  Maitland  sat,  and  Fred- 
erica  reclined,  for  nearly  an  hour;  the  empty  flat,  the 
wintry  dusk,  the  innumerable  cigarettes,  all  fitted  into 
their  talk.  .  .  . 

At  first  Howard  told  her  about  the  shells  he  had  seen 

61 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

at  Beasley's.  "I  bought  a  gloria-matis,"  he  said;  "cost 
like  the  devil!" 

Frederica  frowned.  "I  don't  see  how  you  can  bother 
with  shells  when  the  world  is  just  buzzing  with  real 
things!  For  instance,  Smith  has  come  out  for  votes  for 
women.  Isn't  that  splendid?" 

"He'd  come  out  for  votes  for  Judas  Iscariot  if  it 
would  put  him  in  office,"  he  said,  sharply;  "and  let  me 
tell  you,  Fred,  research  work,  in  any  department  of  sci 
ence,  helps  the  world,  finally,  a  blamed-sight  more  than 
most  of  this  hot  air  that  the  reformers  turn  on."  It  isn't 
so  showy,  but  one  single  man  like  Pasteur  is  of  more 
permanent  value  than  all  the  Smiths  in  our  very  corrupt 
legislature,  boiled  down!" 

"Peeved?"  she  said,  good-naturedly.  "Why  don't  you 
say  'one  single  woman  like  Madame  Curie'?  Well,  buy 
your  old  shells,  if  you  want  to!" 

"I  will,"  he  said,  grinning.     "How's  business?" 

When  she  announced  some  small  success,  he  said,  won- 
deringly,  "You  are  the  limit!"  And  added  what  he 
thought  of  her  pluck  and  her  intelligence:  "I  never  knew 
a  woman  like  you!" 

"All  women  are  like  me — when  you  let  'em  out." 

"No,  they're  not!"  he  contradicted,  with  admiring 
rudeness. 

The  rudeness  pleased  her,  as,  no  doubt,  the  male  cave- 
dweller's  candor  of  fist  or  foot  pleased  the  female  cave- 
dweller.  His  praise  and  wonder  were  like  wine  to  her. 
She  wanted  more  of  it.  Curled  up  on  the  sofa,  she  grew 
more  and  more  daring  in  her  talk;  her  face,  flushing  with 

62 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

excitement,  was  vividly  handsome,  and  her  mind  was  as 
vivid  as  her  face ;  he  could  hardly  keep  up  with  her  mind ! 
She  was  an  Intelligence  to  him,  rather  than  a  woman; 
and  that  was  why  he  was  totally  unaware  of  anything 
unusual  in  the  situation — the  darkness  and  the  solitude. 
There  was  absolutely  no  self-consciousness  in  him. 

With  her  it  was  different — she  was  acutely  self-con 
scious.  Once  a  woman,  bred  in  the  tepid  reticences  of 
propriety,  takes  the  plunge  into  free  talk,  the  very  tingle 
and  exhilaration  of  the  shock  makes  her  strike  out  into 
still  deeper  water.  .  .  .  She  talked  about  herself;  of  her 
life  at  home;  of  Mortimore — "He  ought  to  have  been 
killed  when  he  was  born,"  she  said;  "but,  of  course,  he 
ought  never  to  have  been  born." 

"Of  course,"  Howard  said,  gravely. 

"It  all  came  from  ignorance  on  the  part  of  women," 
she  explained.  "In  Mother's  day,  people  confused  inno 
cence  with  ignorance — and  as  a  result,  Mortimores  were 
born.  What  do  you  think?  The  day  Mother  was  married, 
her  father  said  to  her  (she  told  me  this  herself !) ,  '  Remem 
ber,  Ellen,  your  husband's  past  life  is  none  of  your  busi 
ness.'  Think  of  that!  And  poor  Mother  didn't  know 
enough  to  know  that  it  was  the  one  thing  that  was  her 
business!" 

Her  hearer  concealed  his  embarrassed  knowledge  of 
that  "past  life"  by  nodding  and  frowning. 

"From  Mother's  point  of  view,"  Frederica  went  on, 
contemptuously,  "every  vital  thing  is  indelicate — I  mean 
indecent,"  she  corrected  herself,  with  the  satisfaction  of 
finding  a  more  striking  word;  "according  to  people  like 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Mother,  a  really  refined  baby  would  think  it  improper  to 
be  born!" 

He  laughed  uproariously;  he  wished  he  could  repeat 
that  to  Laura  Childs,  but  of  course  he  couldn't.  How 
ever,  the  fellows  would  appreciate  it.  "As  for  babies," 
Fred  said,  with  a  shrug,  "there's  going  to  be  lots  of 
reform  along  that  line.  To  merely  rear  children  is  a 
pretty  poor  job  for  an  intellectual  being.  Did  I  tell  you 
what  I  pulled  off  in  a  speech  at  our  club  ?  .  .  .  '  The  child 
is  the  jailer  that  has  kept  woman  in  prison.'  Don't  you 
think  that's  pretty  well  put?" 

"Bully,"  he  said. 

Then  she  told  him  that  she  had  found  a  bungalow  out 
on  the  north  side  of  the  lake — "the  unfashionable  side; 
that  place  they  call  Lakeville;  all  camps.  You  know? 
It's  just  beyond  Laketon,  where  the  nice,  useless  rich 
people  go."  She  was  going  to  hire  it  for  the  summer,  she 
said,  and  take  occasional  days  off  from  business,  and  get 
up  a  rattling  good  speech  on  woman  suffrage — "and  sex- 
slavery.  The  abolishment  of  that  is  what  we're  really 
working  for,  and  it  will  come  when  we  face  Truth !  Until 
now,  women  have  been  fed  up  on  lies."  She  would  live 
by  herself :  "  I  don't  mean  to  have  even  a  maid ;  I'm  going 
to  be  on  my  own  bat.  I  suppose  Grandmother  will  throw 
a  fit;  she'll  say,  '  It  isn't  done!'  That's  Grandmother's  cli 
max  of  horror.  She'd  have  said  it  to  every  Reformer 
who  ever  lived." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you'll  stay  there  at  night,  all 
alone?"  he  said,  astonished. 

"Of  course.    Why  not?" 

64 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Won't  you  be  frightened?" 

"Frightened?    What  of?    Would  you  be  frightened?" 

When  he  was  obliged  to  admit  that  he  would  not  be 
what  you'd  call  frightened,  "but  a  girl — " 

"Rot!  Why  should  a  girl  be  frightened?  I  shall  take  a 
revolver." 

After  that,  naturally,  Feminism  became  the  engrossing 
theme,  bringing  with  it,  as  usual,  those  shallow  generaliza 
tions  that  so  often  belittle  this  vital  and  terrible  subject, 
even  as  creeds  sometimes  belittle  Religion.  To  Fred's 
mind,  as  to  many  serious  minds,  Feminism  had  a  religious 
significance;  but  she  did  not  know — arrogance  never 
does  know! — the  stigma  her  conceit  put  upon  her  cause. 

"Look  at  the  unrest  of  women,  everywhere.  I  don't 
mean  the  agitation  for  suffrage; — that  is  just  a  symptom 
of  it.  It  is  yeast,"  she  said,  with  passion;  "yeast!  We 
can't  help  it;  something  is  fermenting;  something  is 
pushing  us.  All  kinds  of  women  feel  it.  I  know,  because 
I  go  round  to  the  factories  and  talk  to  the  girls  at  their 
noon  hour,  trying  to  get  them  to  organize — that's  the 
only  way  we  can  get  the  men  to  do  what  we  want.  Or 
ganization!  Women  have  got  to  get  together !  I've  made 
a  door-to-door  canvass  for  our  league,  and  I  came  up 
against  this — this,  I  don't  know  what  to  call  it!  this 
stirring,  among  women.  Every  woman  (except  fat  old 
dames  whose  minds  stopped  growing  when  they  had  their 
first  baby)  is  stirred,  somehow.  Twenty  years  from  now 
the  women  who  are  girls  to-day  won't  be  putting  picture 
puzzles  together  for  want  of  something  better  to  do." 
The  contempt  in  her  voice  revealed  nothing  to  Howard 

6s 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Maitland,  who  scarcely  knew  the  poor,  dull  lady  in  the 
sitting-room  on  Payton  Street;  but  he  wondered  why 
Fred's  face  suddenly  "reddened.  "No;  girls  are  doing 
things!  When  they  get  to  middle  age  their  brains  won't 
be  chubby.  Look  at  the  factories,  and  shops,  and  offices 
— all  full  of  women!  Girls  don't  have  to  knuckle  down 
any  more,  and  'obey';  they  can  say  'Thank  you  for 
nothing!'  and  break  away,  and  support  themselves.  I 
tell  you  what!  this  life  servitude  that  men  have  imposed 
upon  women  of  looking  after  the  home,  is  done,  done,  for 
good  and  all!  That  sweet  creature,  'the  devoted  wife,'  is 
being  labeled  'kept  woman,' — but  the  ballot  is  the  key  to 
her  prison  door!" 

"Bully  simile,"  he  said. 

"But  isn't  it  all  queer — the  change  in  things?"  she  said, 
her  voice  suddenly  vague  and  wondering;  "it's  a  sort  of 
{race  movement,  with  Truth  as  the  motive  power.  It's 
bigger  than  just — people.  Even  our  parlor-maid,  Flora, 
feels  it!  She  wants  to  do  something;  she  doesn't  know 
what.  (I  wish  she'd  put  her  energies  into  laundering  the 
centerpieces  better,  but  I  regret  to  say  she  has  a  soul  above 
laundry.)  Yes,  things  are  stirring!  It's  yeast." 

Such  talk  was  new  to  Howard.  Until  now,  his  young 
Chivalry  had  concerned  itself  only  with  women's  demand 
for  suffrage — which,  as  Frederica  Payton  had  very  truly 
said,  is  only  a  symptom,  alarming,  or  amusing,  or  divine, 
as  you  may  happen  to  look  at  it — of  the  world-unrest 
which  she  called  "feminism."  He  was  keenly  interested. 

"Gosh,  Fred,"  he  said,  soberly,  as  she  ended  with  the 
assertion  that  Feminism  was  the  most  interesting  thing 

66 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

that  had  come  into  the  Race  Conscienceness  since  hu 
manity  began  to  stand  on  its  hind  legs — "gosh,  I  take  off 
my  hat  to  you!"  His  admiration  was  not  so  much  for 
the  thing  she  was  trying  to  do,  as  for  the  fact  that  she 
was  trying!  She  was  doing  something — anything! — in 
stead  of  sitting  around,  like  most  people,  in  observant  and 
disapproving  idleness.  He  forgot  her  snub  about  his 
shells;  his  eyes  were  ardent  with  admiring  assent  to  ev 
erything  she  said.  ' '  You  are  the  limit !"  he  said,  earnestly. 

And  she,  speaking  passionately  her  poor,  bare,  ugly 
facts — all  true,  but  verging  on  lies,  because  no  one  of  them 
was  the  whole  Truth — going  deeper  into  her  adventure  of 
candor,  felt,  suddenly,  a  quickening  of  the  blood.  She 
had  an  impulse  to  put  out  her  hand  and  touch  him — the 
big,  sprawling,  handsome  fellow!  His  voice,  agreeing  to 
all  she  said,  made  her  quiver  into  momentary  silence,  as  a 
harp-string  quivers  under  a  twanging  and  muting  thumb. 
That  his  assents,  which  gave  her  such  acute  satisfaction, 
were  merely  her  own  convictions,  thrown  back  to  her  by 
the  sounding-board  of  his  good  nature,  she  did  not  realize. 
The  intellectual  attraction  she  felt  in  him  was  hers.  The 
other  attraction,  which  was  his,  she  did  not  analyze.  She 
realized  only  that  something  seemed  to  swell  in  her  throat 
and  her  breathing  quickened.  The  newness  of  the  sensa 
tion  threw  her  off  the  track  of  her  argument,  which  was 
to  prove  that  women  would  save  society  by  facing  facts — 
"facts"  being,  apparently,  the  single  one  of  sex. 

"When  I  marry,"  Fred  said,  "nobody's  going  to  pull 
that  devilish  bromide  on  me,  that  the  man's  past  isn't 
my  business.  There'll  be  no  Mortimores  in  mine!  I 

67 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

mean  to  have  children  who  will  push  the  race  along  to 
perfection !" 

" I  bet  they  will!"  he  said. 

She  sat  up  on  the  sofa,  cross-legged,  clasping  an  ankle 
with  each  hand,  her  eyes  glowing  in  the  dusk.  "  You've 
given  me  a  brace!"  she  said. 

"  You've  given  me  one !  I'd  rather  talk  to  you  than  any 
man  I  know." 

She  put  out  her  hand  impulsively,  and  he  gripped  it 
until  the  seal  ring  on  her  little  finger  cut  into  the  flesh 
and  made  her  wince  with  pain  and  break  away;  but 
with  the  pain  there  was  a  curious  pang  of  pleasure.  She 
got  on  her  feet  with  a  spring,  and,  rubbing  her  bruised 
finger,  gave  a  last  look  about  the  apartment. 

"I  hope  the  tabbies  will  like  it.  Heavens,  Howard,  do 
you  think  they'll  smell  cigarette-smoke?  I  suppose  they'd 
have  a  fit  If  they  discovered  that  the  ' sweet  girl'  smoked 
cigarettes!" 

"Do  they  call  you  a  'sweet  girl'?"  he  said,  and  roared 
at  the  idea. 

"Mr.  Weston  doesn't  like  me  to  smoke.  It  gave  me 
quite  a  shock  to  find  he  was  such  a  'perfect  lady.'" 

"Oh,  well,  he's  old.  What  can  you  expect?  I  like  you 
to.  You  knock  off  your  ashes  like  a  kid  boy." 

"Open  the  window  a  second,  will  you?"  Fred  said; 
"that  smoke  does  hang  around. — Howard,  I  believe  they'll 
think  I'm  trying  to  lasso  Mr.  Weston  into  marrying  me! 
Poor  old  boy,  you  know  when  he  was  young,  before  the 
flood,  some  girl  turned  him  down,  and  I  understand  he's 
never  got  over  it.  The  cousins  will  think  I'm  trying  to 

68 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

catch  him  on  the  rebound!  Funny,  isn't  it,  how  the 
elderly  unmarried  female  is  always  trying  to  make  other 
people  get  married?  I  think  it's  a  form  of  envy;  sort  of 
getting  what  you  want  by  proxy.  Men  don't  Ao  it." 

"Men  are  not  so  altruistic,"  he  said. 

Frederica's  face  bloomed  in  the  darkness,  rose-red. 
They  went  out  to  the  elevator,  and  dropped  down  to  the 
entrance  in  silence.  Howard,  cranking  his  car,  and  getting 
a  slap  on  the  wrist  that  made  him  bite  off  a  bad  word 
between  his  teeth,  thought  to  himself  that  Fred  Payton 
was  a  stunner! 

He  said  so  that  night  to  Laura  Childs,  when  they  were 
sitting  out  a  dance  at  the  Assembly.  They  had  talked 
about  his  gloria-matis,  and  she  had  thrilled  at  its  cost, 
and  pleaded  with,  him  to  show  it  to  her.  "I'm  crazy  to  see 
it!  Please!" 

"Fred  didn't  care  a  copper  about  it,"  he  told  her,  with 
some  amusement.  "She's  sort  of  woozy  on  reforms." 

Laura  nodded.  "Fred's  great,  perfectly  great,"  she 
said,  looking  down  at  the  toe  of  her  slipper,  poking  outf 
from  her  pink  tulle  skirt. 

"She  has  a  man's  brain,"  he  said. 

"Now,  why  do  men  always  say  that  sort  of  thing?" 
Laura  objected,  her  eyes  crinkling  good-naturedly. 
"Brain  has  no  more  sex  than  liver." 

Howard  made  haste  to  apologize :  "  'Course  not !  I  only 
meant  she's  awfully  clever,  you  know." 

Laura  agreed,  a  little  wistfully:  "  I  admire  Fred  awfully. 
Do  you  know,  she  talked  to  the  girls  in  the  rubber-factory 
out  in  Hazelton  about  the  Minimum  Wage?  She  wanted 

69 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

me  to  go  there  with  her,  but  I'd  promised  Jack  McKnight 
to  play  tennis.  Well,  I'm  afraid  I  wouldn't  have  gone, 
anyhow,"  she  added,  soberly;  "those  things  bother 
Father,  and  it  isn't  as  if  I  could  accomplish  anything,  as 
Freddy  can.  If  anybody  asked  me  to  make  a  speech,  I 
should  simply  die.  But  Fred  has  no  end  of  sand,"  Laura 
ended;  her  admiration  was  as  honest  as  it  was  humble. 

"Sand?"  Howard  said;  " you  bet  she  has  sand !  Why, 
she  is  going  to  take  a  bungalow  out  in  Lakeville  this  sum 
mer,  and  live  there  all  by  herself.  She  wants  to  read  and 
study,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"By  herself?"  said  Laura,  really  startled.  "You  don't 
mean  without  even  a  maid?" 

"So  she  says." 

' '  Aunt  Nelly  will  never  allow  it !  And,  really,  it  wouldn't 
be  safe.  She  ought  to  take  Flora  along,  at  least." 

Upon  which  Howard  boldly  tried  Fred's  own  argu 
ment:  "Why  shouldn't  she  be  alone?  She'll  have  a 
revolver." 

"I  wouldn't  do  it  for  a  million  dollars!"  said  Laura. 
"And,  besides,  nobody  goes  to  Lakeville;  it's  awfully 
common." 

"Fred  is  above  that  sort  of  thing,"  Howard  said.  For 
once  the  good-natured  Laura  was  affronted. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  be  like  Fred — "  she  began,  but  he 
interrupted  her: 

"You?  Of  course  you're  not  like  Fred!  You  couldn't 
do  the  things  she  does!" 

Laura  gave  him  a  cool  glance:  "I  promised  this  dance 
to  Jack  McKnight.  Perhaps  we'd  better  start  in?" 

70 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

''I'd  like  to  wring  his  neck,"  Howard  declared,  rising 
reluctantly. 

When  she  and  Jack  were  half-way  down  the  room  she 
told  him  that  there  was  a  new  engagement  in  the  air. 
''The  girl's  perfectly  fine,  but  the  man  makes  me  tired," 
said  Lolly,  lifting  her  pretty  foot  in  the  prettiest  and 
daintiest  kick  imaginable. 

"Tell  us,"  Jack  entreated,  one  hand  holding  hers,  and 
the  other  spread  over  her  young  shoulder-blades. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  out  yet,"  she  said,  "and  I  don't  know  that 
it's — really  on — but  I  bet  it — will  be — pretty  soon!" 

And  she  tossed  her  head  a  little  viciously. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HPHE  two  Misses  Graham  were  very  much  interested 
•••  in  their  real-estate  agent. 

"A  girl,  to  be  in  business,"  said  the  younger  sister, 
doubtfully. 

" It's  very  nice  in  her,"  said  the  elder  sister.  "I  suppose 
the  Paytons  have  lost  their  money  and  she  has  to  sup 
port  the  family." 

"She  is  certainly  capable,"  Miss  Mary  admitted.  "But 
it  does  seem  strange  for  her  to  work  in  this  way,  when 
she  could  give  music  lessons,  for  instance." 

"Perhaps  she's  not  musical,"  Miss  Eliza  objected.  "I 
hate  to  have  a  girl  pounding  the  piano,  when  her  talent 
lies  in  scrubbing  floors."  Miss  Eliza  Graham  looked  like 
a  frayed  old  eagle;  perhaps  because  for  seventy  years 
she  had  flapped  unavailing  wings  against  the  Graham 
traditions. 

Those  traditions  had  kept  her  from  the  serious  study 
of  music,  and  later  they  had  "saved"  her  from  marriage 
with  a  man  who  had  very  little  money.  The  younger 
Miss  Graham  looked,  and  was,  as  contented  as  a  pouter- 
pigeon  teetering  about  in  a  comfortable  barn-yard.  It 
was  Miss  Eliza,  tall,  thin,  piercing-eyed,  and  sweet- 
hearted  at  seventy-two,  who  had,  as  she  expressed  it, 

72 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

4 'dug  Mary  up,"  and  brought  her  to  town  for  the  winter. 
Miss  Eliza  was  for  a  hotel,  but  Miss  Mary  felt  that  un 
married  ladies  should  have  the  dignity  of  their  own  roof. 
"We  can  always  have  the  escort  of  a  messenger-boy,  if  we 
go  out  in  the  evening,"  she  told  her  sister,  who  agreed,  her 
eyes  twinkling. 

"Excellent  idea.  We  can  spank  him  if  he  doesn't  be 
have  properly!" 

"Oh,  my  dear  Eliza!"  Miss  Mary  protested,  but  she 
smiled  indulgently.  Eliza  was  the  most  precious  thing  in 
the  world  to  the  little,  plump  lady  who  made  endless  ex 
cuses  to  herself,  and  to  everybody  else,  for  "dear  Eliza's 
ways."  It  was  a  "way"  of  Eliza's  to  forgive  Youth  for 
almost  anything  it  did.  .  .  . 

"Of  course,  Youth  makes  Age  uncomfortable,"  she 
would  concede.  "New  wine  is  very  hard  on  old  bottles! 
But  if  the  bottles  burst,  it  isn't  the  fault  of  the  wine, 
it  is  the  fault  of  the  bottles— -for  having  been  empty!"  The 
significance  of  those  last  words  was  quite  lost  on  Miss 
Mary. 

As  the  two  sisters  went  over  their  little  apartment,  and 
discovered  its  possibilities,  old  Miss  Eliza's  interest  cen 
tered  in  the  youth  as  well  as  the  sex  of  their  real-estate 
agent.  "Look  at  that  wood-box!"  she  said; — "to  think 
of  a  girl  having  so  much  gumption!" 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Miss  Mary — and  pointed  a  shrinking 
finger  at  the  stub  of  a  cigarette  on  the  parlor  window- 
sill,  "I  thought  I  srnelt  smoke;  a  workman  must  have 
left  it." 

But  the  cigarette  was  the  only  fly  in  the  ointment.  The 
6  73 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

apartment,  with  its  "  art "  finishings,  electricity,  and  steam- 
heat,  was  to  the  country  ladies  and  their  one  elderly  maid 
servant  a  miracle  of  beauty  and  convenience. 

"Arthur  was  wonderfully  wise  in  asking  Miss  Payton 
to  attend  to  it  for  him,"  Miss  Eliza  said. 

"I  wonder  if — it  means  anything?"  Miss  Mary  queried, 
with  an  arch  look.  "After  all,  he  must  know  her  very 
well,  to  have  told  her  just  what  we  wanted — rooms  and 
bath,  and  all  that.  It  is  rather  intimate,  you  know." 

"I  hope  it  means  something!  I  hope  he  has  got  over 
that  wicked  jilt,  Kate  Morrison!" 

"Well,  the  Pay  tons  are  nice  people,"  the  younger  sis 
ter  said;  "she  was  a  Holmes,  you  know." 

They  were  both  eager  to  see  dear  Arthur  and  Miss  Pay- 
ton,  for  they  felt  sure  they  would  know  the  moment  they 
saw  them  together  whether  he  had  "got  over"  Kate. 
"When  people  are  in  love  they  always  betray  it,"  said 
Miss  Eliza. 

But  when  Mr.  Weston  brought  Miss  Frederica  Payton 
to  call,  no  "love"  was  betrayed  on  either  side.  In  fact, 
the  call  was  such  an  astonishing  experience  to  the  two 
sisters  that  they  quite  forgot  their  sentimental  wonderings. 
Frederica  accepted  their  thanks  and  appreciation  very 
pleasantly,  but  a  little  bluntly.  Oh,  yes,  the  sunshine  in 
the  dining-room  was  very  nice ;  she  was  glad  they  liked  it. 
But  she  hoped  they'd  survive  the  jig-saw  over-mantel 
and  the  awful  tiles  in  the  parlor.  "They  made  me  pretty 
sick,"  she  said. 

"Why,  I  thought  the  mantelpiece  very  artistic,"  Miss 
Mary  said,  blankly. 

74 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"The  porcelain  bath-tub  is  dandy,"  Fred  said,  with  real 
pride. 

"Dandy?"  murmured  Miss  Eliza. 

"  It  made  me  feel  as  if  I  could  hardly  wait  for  Saturday 
night  to  take  a  bath,"  the  Real  Estate  Agent  said.  The 
two  ladies  looked  startled — not  at  the  antique  joke, 
but  to  refer  to  bathing  in  Arthur's  presence!  "I  mean 
the  tub  is  bully,"  Fred  explained;  "and  the  plumbing — " 
Here  she  became  so  specific  that  her  modest  old  clients 
grew  quite  red.  She  had  been  obliged  to  get  a  plumber 
in  to  work  on  the  trap  the  afternoon  before  they  came, 
but  she  was  sure  everything  was  all  right  now. 

The  door-bell  rang  at  this  moment,  and  while  the 
Misses  Graham,  breathless  under  the  shock  of  Miss  Pay- 
ton's  thoroughness,  welcomed  (of  all  people!)  old  Mrs. 
Holmes,  Fred  was  able  to  groan  to  Arthur  Weston, 
"Can't  we  get  out?" 

"We  cannot,"  he  said,  decidedly;  "now  brace  up  and 
be  nice  to  your  grandmother." 

" Oh,  Lord!"  said  Fred;  but  she  was  really  very  nice. 
She  pecked  at  Mrs.  Holmes's  cheek  through  its  white  lace 
veil,  and  said  "Hello,  Grandma!  How  is  anti-suffrage?" 
as  politely  as  possible. 

Of  course,  to  make  things  pleasant  for  Mrs.  Holmes,  the 
Misses  Graham  repeated  all  their  appreciation  of  Miss 
Freddy's  efficiency.  "She  will  make  an  admirable  house 
keeper,"  Miss  Mary  said,  in  her  gentle  way. 

"She  ought  to,"  said  Frederica's  grandmother.  "I'm 
sure  I  brought  her  mother  up  to  know  how  to  keep  house ! 
But  it  is  just  a  fancy  of  Freddy's  to  do  this  sort  of  thing;" 

75 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

she  waved  a  knuckly  white  glove  at  the  apartment,  which 
caused  Frederica  to  roll  her  eyes  at  Mr.  Weston.  "Of 
course,  I  know  it  isn't  done,  but  it's  an  amusement  for  her," 
Mrs.  Holmes  explained,  "and  I  have  so  much  sympathy 
with  young  people — my  daughter  says  I  am  all  heart! — 
that  I  love  to  have  the  child  amuse  herself." 

She  was  trying  to  preserve  the  Payton  dignity,  but  she 
was  very  nervous;  she  could  have  said  it  all  so  much  bet 
ter  if  that  pert  creature  had  not  been  sitting  there,  her 
knees  crossed,  and  displaying  a  startling  length  of  silk 
stocking.  She  knew  that  no  sense  of  propriety  would 
keep  Fred  quiet  if  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  contradict 
anybody,  and  she  was  glad  when  the  two  ladies  changed 
the  subject,  even  though  it  was  for  the  gunpowdery  topic 
of  suffrage,  on  which,  it  appeared,  the  younger  Miss 
Graham  had  strong  feelings. 

"I  am  sure  female  influence  is  not  only  more  refining, 
but  more  effective  than  the  ballot  could  possibly  be,"  she 
said. 

Of  course  Fred  rushed  in:  "You're  an  anti?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  Miss  Mary  said,  smiling. 

"To  get  things  done  by  'influence'  is  to  revert,  it  seems 
to  me,  to  the  methods  of  the  harem,"  said  Fred,  earnestly. 
Frederica  was  never  flippant  on  this  vital  topic  of  suffrage, 
unless  she  was  angry.  Her  grandmother's  retort  supplied 
the  anger: 

"Woman's  charm  will  always  outweigh  woman's  bal 
lot,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes,  with  smiling  decision.  (She, 
too,  was  getting  hot  inside.) 

"The  antis,"  Fred  flung  back,  "think  that  all  that 

76 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

is  necessary  is  to  'sit  on  the  stile,  and  continue  to 
smile'!" 

"What  did  you  say?"  said  Mrs.  Holmes,  frowning. 
"Young  people  speak  so  indistinctly  nowadays!  We 
were  taught  proper  enunciation  when  I  was  young." 

"Woman,"  said  Miss  Mary,  raising  her  voice,  "is  a 
princess,  but  her  God-given  rule  lies  in  the  gentle  domain 
of  the  home." 

"Gosh!"  said  Fred — and  two  of  her  auditors  laughed 
explosively.  But  Frederica  was  red  with  wrath.  "I've 
seen  the  *  princess '  exercising  her  God-given  rule  in  clean 
ing  the  floors  of  saloons  on  her  hands  and  knees,  because 
she  had  to  support  the  children  that  her  husband  had 
foisted  on  her  and  then  deserted.  Do  you  think  under 
such  'gentle  circumstances'  her  charm  would  do  as  much 
for  her  as  a  vote?" 

One  does  not  know  just  how  much  of  an  explosion  there 
would  have  been  if  the  elder  Miss  Graham  had  not  come 
to  the  rescue:  "Ah,  well,  there  are  so  many  good  reasons 
on  both  sides,  that  I'm  glad  I  don't  have  to  decide  it!" 
Then  she  began  to  talk  of  old  friends  in  Graf  ton ;  but,  alas, 
as  a  subject  Grafton,  too,  was  somewhat  dangerous;  old 
Mr.  So-and-so  died  two  years  ago;  and  Mrs.  Black — did 
Mrs.  Holmes  remember  Mrs.  Black?  "I  am  sorry  to  say 
she  is  very  ill,"  Miss  Mary  said.  The  chatter  of  gossip 
was — as  it  so  often  is  with  age — a  rehearsal  of  sickness  and 
death.  In  the  midst  of  it  Mrs.  Holmes  clutched  at  a 
gold  mesh-bag  that  was  slipping  from  her  steep  lap,  and 
tried  to  rise: 

"I  think  I  must  go.  (Oh,  do  pick  up  that  bag,  Freddy 

77 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

dear.)  I  am  too  tender-hearted,"  she  confessed,  "I  can't 
bear  to  hear  unpleasant  things!" 

"Well,  let  us  talk  of  pleasant  things,"  Miss  Eliza  said; 
but  she  looked  at  the  frightened  old  face  under  the  white 
veil; — "and  'the  feet  of  the  bearers'  are  coming  nearer  to 
her  every  day!"  she  thought. 

Mrs.  Holmes  sat  down  again,  reluctantly.  Of  course, 
from  the  Misses  Graham's  point  of  view,  there  could  be 
nothing  pleasanter  for  a  grandmother  to  hear  than  plaud 
its  of  Miss  Freddy's  efficiency;  so  they  went  back  again 
to  that.  Dear  Arthur  had  told  them  how  hard  she  had 
worked  (again  Freddy's  eyes  rolled  toward  dear  Arthur) ; 
engaging  tradesmen,  and  making  the  landlord  do  the 
necessary  repairing. — "Oh,  my  dear,"  Miss  Mary  inter 
rupted  herself,  "I  meant  to  warn  you  that  one  of  your 
workmen  left  a  half -smoked  cigarette  here.  I  knew  you 
would  want  to  reprove  him.  Dear  me!  in  these  days, 
with  all  the  new  ideas,  the  working-people  are  very  care 
less.  But  I  feel  so  strongly  our  responsibility  to  them, 
that  I  always  tell  them  of  their  mistakes." 

"The  working -people  didn't  make  any  mistake  this 
time,"  Fred  said;  "you  mustn't  blame  the  plumber," — the 
temptation  to  get  back  at  her  grandmother  was  too  much 
for  her — ' '  it  was  my  own  cigarette. ' '  There  was  a  stunned 
silence.  "Howard  Maitland  and  I  were  smoking  here 
quite  a  while,"  she  said,  sweetly.  "But  I  thought  I'd 
aired  the  room  out.  I'm  awfully  sorry, — cigarette-smoke 
does  hang  about  so."  ("  'Amusement' !"  she  was  saying 
to  herself;  "I'll  'amuse'  her!") 

But  Mrs.  Holmes  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  She  shook 

78 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

an  arch  and  knobby  finger  at  her  granddaughter. 
" Naughty  girl!  But  that's  one  of  the  things  that  is  done 
nowadays,"  she  said;  "ladies  smoke  just  as  much  as 
gentlemen,  don't  they,  Mr.  Weston?" 

"More,"  he  declared,  gayly;  but  he  watched  his  two 
cousins.  Had  they  taken  it  in  that  Maitland  and  Fred 
had  been  in  the  flat  together?  It  had  apparently  not 
struck  Mrs.  Holmes — or  if  it  had,  she  chose  to  ignore  it; 
she  was  talking,  with  a  very  red  face,  about  all  sorts  of 
things.  It  seemed  a  favorable  moment  to  drag  his  candid 
ward  away,  and  he  did  so,  with  effusive  promises  to  come 
again  soon — all  the  time  looking  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye  at  the  Misses  Graham's  farewell  to  Fred.  Alas,  Miss 
Mary's  were  hardly  visible. 

But  Miss  Eliza  followed  them  into  the  hall,  and  put  a 
hand  on  Fred's  arm:  "I  don't  mind  the  smell  of  smoke 
in  a  room  half  as  much  as  I  do  on  a  girl's  lips,"  she  said, 
smiling ;  ' '  they  ought  to  be  like  roses. ' '  Then  she  gave  the 
angular  young  arm  a  little  pat  and  ran  back. 

"What  a  duck  she  is!"  Fred  said,  honestly  moved;  "I 
wish  I  hadn't  let  out  at  Grandmother!" 

Her  repentance  did  not  soothe  Arthur  Weston.  "I'd 
like  to  shake  you,"  he  said,  as  they  got  into  the  elevator. 

"Me?  What's  your  kick?  I  thought  I  behaved  beauti 
fully  !  I  kissed  an  inch  of  powder  off  Grandmother's  cheek. 
There's  no  satisfying  you.  I  supposed  you'd  give  me  a 
bunch  of  violets,  with  '  For  a  good  girl,'  on  the  card.  Don't 
be  an  old  maid!  Even  Miss  Graham  isn't.  She's  a  dear!" 

"I  may  be  an  old  maid,  but  you  are  an  imp!"  he  said. 
In  the  taxi,  as  they  rushed,  with  open  windows,  across  the 

79 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

city  back  to  Pay  ton  Street,  he  spoke  more  gravely.  "You 
ought  not  to  have  gone  wandering  around  in  vacant  apart 
ments  with  Maitland."  He  was  really  annoyed,  and 
showed  it. 

Frederica  was  equally  annoyed.  "I  am  a  business 
woman.  Howard  was  obliging  enough  to  take  me  around 
in  his  car.  In  the  flat  we  talked  for  a  while.  Why 
shouldn't  we?  If  he  had  been  a  girl,  I  suppose  we  could 
have  sat  there  until  midnight  and  you  would  have  never 
peeped!" 

"But  may  I  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  he's  not 
a  girl?" 

"May  I  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  there  is 
such  a  thing,  between  men  and  women,  as  intellectual 
relations?"  She  was  getting  angry,  and  her  anger  be 
trayed  her  self-consciousness. 

"You  compel  me,"  he  retorted,  "to  remind  you  that 
there  are  other  relations  between  men  and  women  which 
are  not  markedly  intellectual." 

"There're  none  of  that  kind  in  mine,  thank  you!    I — " 

But  he  interrupted  her,  dryly:  "Of  course  you  know 
you  had  no  business  to  do  it.  You  remind  me,  Fred,  of 
one  of  those  dirty  little  boys  who  put  a  firecracker  under 
your  chair  to  make  you  jump.  Look  here,  it's  unworthy 
of  a  'business  woman'  to  do  unconventional  things 
simply  because  they  are  unconventional." 

"I  didn't!" 

"You  are  like  all  the  rest  of  your  sex — self-conscious  as 
hens  when  they  see  an  automobile  coming!  You  knew  it 
was  queer  to  shut  yourself  up  there  with  that  darned 

80 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

fool,  Maitland,  and  that's  why  you  loved  doing  it,"  he  flung 
at  her.  "That's  the  trouble  with  women  nowadays;  not 
that  they  do  unusual  things,  but  they  are  so  blamed 
pleased  to  be  unusual!  And  if  they  only  knew  it,  they 

don't  shock  a  man  at  all.    They  only  bore  him  to  death." 
«!_» 

"But  I  suppose  you  can't  help  it;  you  are  so  atro 
ciously  young,"  he  ended,  sighing. 

Frederica  was  almost  too  angry  to  speak.  "I  am  old 
enough  to  do  as  I  choose!" 

1 '  Only  Youth  does  as  it  chooses, ' '  he  told  her.  ' '  Reflect 
upon  what  I  have  said,  my  dear  infant,  and  profit  by  it. 
.  .  .  Stop  at  the  iron  dog!"  he  called  to  the  driver.  And 
the  next  minute  Frederica,  buffeted  by  the  high,  keen 
wind,  ran  past  the  dog,  whose  back  was  ridged  with  grimy 
snow,  and,  holding  on  to  her  hat  with  one  hand,  let  her 
self  into  the  hall  with  her  latch-key. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  she  thought,  slamming 
the  front  door  behind  her;  "it  isn't  his  funeral!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

A i  the  jar  of  the  banging  door,  Andy  Payton's  hat 
moved    slightly    on    the    hat-rack,   and    something 
snarled  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"It's  nothing,  Morty — only  sister,"  a  motherly  voice 
said;  and  Miss  Carter  leaned  over  the  baluster: 

"I'm  just  bringing  him  down  to  his  supper;  he's  a  little 
nervous  this  evening." 

"Oh,"  Fred  said,  shortly;  "well,  wait  till  I  get  out  of 
the  way,  please."  She  stepped  into  the  unlighted  parlor, 
and  stood  there  in  the  darkness,  between  the  piano  and 
the  bust  of  Mr.  Andrew  Payton;  as  she  waited,  her  hand 
fell  on  the  open  keyboard,  and  she  struck  a  jangling 
chord.  "Flora  has  been  playing  on  the  sly,"  she  thought; 
"poor  old  Flora!"  Then  for  a  moment  her  fingers  were 
rigid  on  the  keys — the  scrabbling  procession  was  passing 
through  the  hall  down  to  the  room  where  Mortimore's 
food  was  given  to  him.  When  the  door  closed  behind  him 
she  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  She  never  looked  at  her 
brother  when  she  could  avoid  it.  As  she  went  up 
stairs  she  paused  on  the  landing  to  call  out,  "Hello, 
Mother!" 

Mrs.  Payton  answered  from  the  sitting-room:  "Don't 
you  want  some  tea,  dear?" 

82 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Frederica  hesitated;  she  didn't  want  any  tea,  but — "I 
suppose  it  pleases  her,"  she  thought,  resignedly;  and  went 
into  the  pleasant,  fire-lit  room,  with  its  bubbling  teakettle 
and  fragrance  of  Roman  hyacinths  blooming  on  the  win 
dow-sills.  "Finished  your  puzzle?"  she  asked,  good- 
naturedly. 

Mrs.  Pay  ton,  grateful  for  a  little  interest,  said:  "No; 
I've  been  doing  up  Christmas  presents  most  of  the  after 
noon.  I'm  pretty  tired!  Tying  all  those  ribbons  is  dread 
fully  hard  work,"  she  ended,  with  an  air  of  achievement 
that  was  pathetic  or  ridiculous,  as  one  might  happen  to 
look  at  it.  Her  daughter,  glancing  at  the  array  of  white 
packages  tied  with  gay  ribbons,  did  not  see  the  pathos. 
That  slightly  supercilious  droop  of  the  lip  which  always 
made  Mrs.  Pay  ton  draw  back  into  herself,  showed  Fred's 
opinion  of  the  "hard  work";  but  she  only  said,  laconi 
cally: 

"Mr.  Weston  took  me  to  call  on  the  old  maids.  No,  I 
don't  want  any  tea,  thank  you." 

"You  oughtn't  to  call  them  'old  maids';  it  isn't  re 
spectful." 

"It's  what  they  are — at  least,  the  younger  one  is.  The 
other  one  is  very  nice.  But  they  are  both  of  'em  of  the 
vintage  of  1830." 

Mrs.  Payton  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  her 
daughter's  picturesque,  but  limited,  vocabulary  to  know 
what  "vintage"  meant,  so  she  said: '  'Oh,  no;  they  are  not 
so  old  as  that.  I  don't  think  Miss  Graham  is  much  over 
seventy." 

"I  waked  Miss  Mary  up!"  Frederica  said,  joyfully. 

83 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,"  Mrs.  Payton  sighed. 

Fred  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Grandmother  will  tattle, 
— yes,  she  was  there ;  deaf  as  a  post,  and  all  dolled  up  like 
a  plush  horse; — so  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  tell  you  just 
what  happened."  She  told  it,  lightly  enough.  "Old 
Weston  threw  fits  in  the  taxi,  coming  home,"  she  ended. 

"I  should  think  he  might!     Freddy,  really—" 

Her  daughter  looked  at  her  with  narrowing  but  not 
unkind  eyes.  "I  wish  I  knew  why  people  fuss  so  over 
nothing,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Payton  put  her  empty  cup  back  on  the  tray  with 
a  despairing  sigh:  "If  you  can't  see  the  impropriety — -" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  see  what  you  call '  impropriety ' ;  what 
I  don't  see  is  why  you  call  it  'improper.'  What  consti 
tutes  impropriety?  The  fact  that,  as  Grandmother  says, 
'it  isn't  done'?  I  could  mention  a  lot  of  things  that  are 
done,  that  /  would  call  improper!  Wearing  nasty  false 
fronts,  as  Grandmother  does,  and  silly  tight  shoes.  A 
thing  is  true,  or  it's  a  lie.  That  distinction  is  worth  while. 
But  what  you  call  'impropriety'  isn't  worth  bothering 
about." 

"Truth  and  falsehood  are  not  the  only  distinctions  in 
the  world.  Things  are  fitting,  or — not." 

"Howard  and  I  talked,  in  an  empty  flat,"  Fred  said; 
"  I  suppose  if  it  had  been  in  our  parlor,  with  the  Egyptian 
virgin  out  in  the  hall  chaperoning  us,  it  would  have  been 
'fitting'?" 

Mrs.  Payton  wiped  her  eyes.  "There's  no  use  discuss^ 
ing  anything  with  you.  When  /  was  a  young  lady,  if  my 
mother  had  reproved — " 

84 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Fred  made  a  discouraged  gesture:  "Oh,  don't  let's  go 
back  to  the  dark  ages.  As  for  Howard — I'll  see  him  at 
my  office,  if  it  makes  you  any  happier." 

"Why  can't  he  call  on  you  in  your  own  house?  You 
cheapen  yourself  by — " 

"Mother,  there's  no  use!  I  couldn't  stand  it.  Mor- 
timore — " 

11  Frederica!" 

Mrs.  Payton's  gesture  of  command  was  inescapable. 
Involuntarily  Fred's  lips  closed;  when  her  mother  spoke 
to  her  in  that  tone,  the  childish  habit  of  obedience  asserted 
itself.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment: 

"Of  course  you  don't  mind  him,"  she  said;  "you  are 
fond  of  him.  But  you  can't  expect  me  to  feel  as  you  do." 
She  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  shiver  of  disgust. 

"I  love  you  both  just  the  same!"  Mrs.  Payton  said, 
emphatically. 

Frederica  was  not  listening.  "Oh,  by  the  way,"  she 
said,  "I've  heard  of  a  little  bungalow,  at  that  camp  place, 
Lakeville — you  know? — that  I  can  rent  for  twenty-five 
dollars  a  month.  I'm  going  to  hire  it  for  next  summer — 
rather  ahead  of  time,  but  somebody  might  grab  it.  I  want 
to  have  a  place  to  go,  when  I  have  two  or  three  days  off. 
I  hope  you'll  come  out  sometimes.  And — and  Miss  Carter 
can  bring  Morty,"  she  ended,  with  generous  intention. 

Mrs.  Payton  was  silent.  She  was  saying  to  herself,  de 
spairingly,  "She's  jealous!" 

"Well,  I  must  go  and  dress,"  Frederica  said,  and  got 
herself  out  of  the  room,  acutely  conscious  of  her  mother's 
averted  face.  "  'Cheapening*  myself — how  silly!"  she 

85 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

thought,  as  she  closed  her  own  door.  When  she  took  her 
cigarette-case  out  of  her  pocket,  Miss  Graham's  words 
came  into  her  mind  and  she  smiled;  but  she  lighted 
a  cigarette  and,  standing  before  her  mirror,  practised 
knocking  off  the  ashes.  Was  it  this  way?  Was  it  that 
way?  How  does  the  "kid  boy"  do  it?  She  tried  a  dozen 
ways;  but  she  could  not  remember  the  entirely  uncon 
scious  gesture  which  had  pleased  Howard  Maitland.  ' '  How 
funny  and  old-fashioned  old  Miss  Graham  was !  But  quite 
sweet,"  she  thought.  It  occurred  to  her,  as  she  took  out 
her  hair-pins,  that  Miss  Graham's  antiquated  ideas  did 
not  irritate  her,  and  her  mother's  did.  For  a  moment  she 
pondered  this  old  puzzle  of  humanity:  "Why  are  mem 
bers  of  your  family  more  provoking  than  outsiders  ?"  After 
all,  Miss  Graham,  with  her  "roses,"  was  just  as  irrational 
as  Mrs.  Payton  with  her  fuss  about  propriety  and  "cheap 
ness" — or  Arthur  Weston,  gassing  about  "relations  which 
are  not  markedly  intellectual."  She  was  angry  at  him, 
but  that  phrase  made  her  giggle.  She  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  her  bed,  her  brush  in  her  hand,  her  hair  hanging 
about  her  shoulders;  it  had  been  very  interesting,  that 
"cheap"  and  entirely  "intellectual"  hour  alone  with 
Howard  in  the  darkening  flat.  .  .  . 

She  put  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  her  chin  in  her  hand, 
and  smiled.  Of  course  she  knew  what  her  mother,  and 
Mr.  Weston—"  poor  old  boy !"— and  her  grandmother,  and 
the  Misses  Graham  all  had  in  the  back  of  their  minds.  "  Id 
iots!"  she  said,  good-naturedly.  If  they  could  have  heard 
the  plain,  straight,  man-to-man  talk  in  the  empty  apart 
ment,  they  would  have  discovered  that  nowadays  men  and 

86 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

girls  are  not  interested  in  those  wwintellectual  relations  at 
which  her  man  of  business  had  hinted.  She  remembered 
Howard's  look  when  he  said  he  would  rather  talk  to 
her  than  to  any  man  he  knew — and  she  lifted  her  head 
proudly!  No  girly-girly  compliment  could  have  pleased 
her  as  that  did.  It  was  just  as  she  had  always  said, 
the  right  kind  of  man  knows  that  a  woman  wants  him  to 
talk  horse  sense  to  her,  not  gush.  If  the  tabbies,  and  Mr. 
Weston,  and  her  mother  had  heard  that  talk,  they 
wouldn't  worry  about  sentiment!  Suddenly,  she  re 
called  that  strange  feeling  she  had  had  below  her  breast 
bone  as  she  looked  at  Howard  sprawling  in  the  arm 
chair.  She  remembered  her  curious  impulse  to  touch 
him,  and  the  rosy  warmth  that  seemed  to  go  all  over  her, 
like  a  wave;  she  thought  of  that  pang  of  pleasure  when 
his  hand  crushed  hers  so  that  the  seal  ring  had  cut  into 
the  flesh  and  hurt  her.  "I  wonder — ?"  she  said;  and  bit 
her  lip.  Then  her  face  reddened  sharply;  she  flung  her 
head  up  like  a  wild  creature  who  feels  the  grip  of  the  trap. 

Love? 

For  an  instant  she  felt  something  like  fright.  "  Of  course 
not!  He's  just  a  bully  fellow,  and  I  like  him.  Nothing 
more;  I  don't — "  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  the 
mirror,  and  the  image  held  her  eye.  The  vivid,  smiling 
face,  a  little  thin,  with  the  color  hot,  just  now,  on  the  high 
cheek-bones ;  dark,  wavy  hair,  falling  back  from  a  charm 
ing  brow  which,  pathetically  enough  (for  she  was  only 
twenty-five) ,  had  lines  in  it.  "Heavens !"  she  said,  " I  be 
lieve  I  do!"  She  laughed,  and,  jumping  to  her  feet,  shook 
the  mane  of  hair  over  her  eyes.  But  before  she  began  to 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

brush  it  she  lifted  the  hand  Howard  Maitland  had  gripped, 
and  kissed  it  hard,  once — twice ! 

"I  do — care,"  she  said;  "I  didn't  know  it  was  like  this!" 
She  glowed  all  over.  * '  J  am  in  love, ' '  she  repeated,  amazed. 

While  she  tumbled  the  soft,  dark  hair  into  a  loose  knot 
on  the  top  of  her  head  she  tried  to  whistle,  but  her 
lips  were  unsteady.  She  did  not  know  herself  with  this 
quiver  all  through  her,  and  the  sudden  stinging  in  her 
eyes,  and  something  swelling  and  tightening  in  her  throat. 
She  forgot  the  shocked  old  maids,  and  the  disgusted  trus 
tee.  She  was  in  love !  She  began  to  sing,  but  broke  off  at 
a  faint  knock. 

"Dinner's  ready,  Miss  Freddy." 

"Come  in,  Flora,"  Frederica  called  out;  "and  hook  me 
up."  She  smiled  so  gaily  at  the  silent  creature,  not  even 
scolding  when  the  slim,  cold  finger-tips  touched  her  warm 
shoulder,  that  the  woman  smiled  a  little,  too.  "  I  thought 
this  was  your  afternoon  out?"  Fred  said,  kindly. 

"I  'ain't  got  no  place  in  partic'lar  to  go.  Anyway,  I 
knew  your  ma  wasn't  goin'  to  be  in,  and — " 

"I  bet  you  played  on  the  piano,"  Frederica  said,  smiling 
at  herself  in  the  glass. 

"Well,  yes'm,  I  did,"  the  woman  confessed.  "I  picked 
out  the  whole  of  'Rock  of  Ages.' ' 

"Flora !  Don't  look  so  low-spirited;  I  believe  you're  in 
love.  Have  you  got  a  new  beau?  I've  been  told  that 
people  are  always  low-spirited  when  they're  in  love." 

Flora  simpered;   "Ah,  now,  Miss  Freddy!" 

"Come!    Who  is  he?    You've  got  to  tell  me !" 

"Well,  Mr.  Baker's  got  a  new  man  on.  That  there  snide 

88 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Arnold's  been  bounced.  Good  riddance!  He  never  did 
'mount  to  nothing.  Me,  I'm  sorry  for  the  girl  he  married; 
she'll  just  slave  and  git  no  wages.  That's  what  marryin' 
Arnold  '11  do  for  her!" 

"That's  what  marrying  any  man  does  for  a  woman," 
Miss  Payton  instructed  her;  "a  wife  is  a  slave." 

But  Flora's  face  had  softened  into  abject  sentimentality. 
"This  here  new  man,  Sam,  he's  something  like.  Light,  he 
is;  and  freckled."  Then  her  face  fell:  "Anne  says  he's 
got  a  girl  on  the  Hill.  Don't  make  no  difference  to  me, 
anyhow.  It's  music  I  want.  If  I  was  young,  I'd  git  an 
education,  and  go  to  one  of  them  conservmatories  and 
learn  to  play  on  the  piano." 

"I'll  give  you  some  lessons,  one  of  these  days,"  Fred 
promised  her,  good-naturedly.  "Poor  old  Flora,"  she 
said  to  herself,  as  the  maid,  like  a  fragile  brown  shadow, 
slipped  out  of  the  room.  "'He's  got  a  girl  on  the  Hill'! 
I  wonder  how  I'd  feel  if  Howard  had  4a  girl  on  the  Hill'?" 
Again  the  tremor  ran  through  her;  she  could  not  have 
said  whether  it  was  pain  or  bliss.  "  I  certainly  must  teach 
Flora  her  notes,"  she  said,  trying  to  get  back  to  the 
commonplace.  Then  she  forgot  Flora,  and,  bending  for 
ward,  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass  for  a  long  moment. 
"I'll  get  that  hat  at  Louise's,"  she  said,  turning  out  the 
gas;  "it's  the  smartest  thing  I've  struck  in  many  moons." 
7 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.  WESTON,  riding  home  in  the  taxi,  was  not 
without  some  astonishment  at  himself.  Why  was 
he  so  keenly  annoyed  at  Fred's  bad  taste?  Why  had  he 
such  an  ardent  desire  to  kick  Maitland?  He  might  have 
gone  further  in  his  self -analysis  and  discovered  that, 
though  he  wanted  to  kick  Howard,  he  did  not  want  to 
haul  him  over  the  coals,  as  a  man  of  his  years  might  well 
have  done — merely  to  give  a  friendly  tip  as  to  propriety 
to  a  youngster  whom  he  had  seen  put  into  breeches.  Had 
he  discovered  this  reluctance  in  himself,  Arthur  Weston 
might  have  decided  that  his  indignation  was  based  on  a 
sense  of  personal  injury — which  has  its  own  significance 
in  a  man  of  nearly  fifty  who  concerns  himself  in  the  affairs 
of  a  woman  under  thirty.  The  fact  was  that,  though 
he  thought  of  himself  only  as  her  grandfatherly  trustee, 
Frederica  Payton  was  every  day  taking  a  larger  place  in 
his  life.  She  amused  him,  and  provoked  him,  and  inter 
ested  him;  but,  most  of  all,  the  pain  of  her  passionate  fu 
tilities  roused  him  to  a  pity  that  made  him  really  suffer. 
He  could  not  bear  to  see  pain.  Briefly,  she  gave  him  some 
thing  to  think  about. 

His  displeasure  evaporated  overnight,  and  when  he 
went  up  to  her  office  the  next  morning  he  was  ready  to 

90 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

apologize  for  his  words  in  the  taxi.  But  it  was  not  neces 
sary.  Fred,  in  the  excitement  of  receiving  a  letter  asking 
her  fee  for  hunting  up  rooms,  had  quite  forgotten  that  she 
had  been  scolded. 

"I  think  I'd  better  advertise  in  all  the  daily  papers!" 
she  announced,  eagerly. 

"You're  a  good  fellow,"  he  said;  "you  take  your  medi 
cine  and  don't  make  faces." 

"Make  faces?  Oh,  you  mean  because  you  called  me 
down  last  night?  Bless  you,  if  it  amuses  you,  it  doesn't 
hurt  me!" 

The  sense  of  her  youth  came  over  him  in  a  pang  of  lone 
liness,  and  with  it,  curiously  enough,  an  impulse  of  flight, 
which  made  him  say,  abruptly:  "I  shall  probably  go 
abroad  in  January.  Can  I  trust  you  not  to  advertise  your 
self  into  bankruptcy  before  I  get  back?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Weston,"  she  said,  blankly;  "how  awful! 
Don't  go!" 

"You  don't  need  me,"  he  assured  her;  but  a  faint  pleas 
ure  stirred  about  his  heart. 

"Need  you?  Why,  I  simply  couldn't  live  without  you? 
In  the  first  place,  my  business  would  go  to  pot,  without 
your  advice;  and  then — well,  you  know  how  it  is.  You 
are  the  only  person  who  speaks  my  language.  Grand 
mother  talks  about  my  vulgarities,  and  Aunt  Bessie  talks 
about  my  stomach,  and  the  Childs  cousins  talk  about  my 
vices — but  nobody  talks  about  my  interests,  except  you. 
Don't  go  and  leave  me,"  she  pleaded  with  him. 

The  glow  of  pleasure  about  his  heart  warmed  into  actual 
happiness.  "Please  don't  think  I  approve  of  you!" 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  gray,  direct  eyes,  and  nodded. 
4 '  I  know  you  don't.  But  I  don't  mind ; — you  understand. ' ' 

"But,"  he  said,  raising  a  rueful  eyebrow,  "how  shall  I 
make  Cousin  Mary  'understand'  your  performances?" 

"By  staying  at  home  and  keeping  me  in  order!  Don't 
go  away." 

It  was  the  everlasting  feminine:  "7  need  you!"  There 
was  no  "new  woman"  in  it;  no  self-sufficiency;  nothing 
but  the  old,  dependent  arrogance  that  has  charmed  and 
held  the  man  by  its  flattering  selfishness  ever  since  the 
world  began. 

He  was  opening  the  office  door,  but  she  laid  a  frankly 
anxious  hand  on  his  arm.  "Promise  me  you  won't  go!" 

He  would  not  commit  himself.  "It  depends;  if  you 
get  married,  and  shut  up  shop,  you  won't  want  a  business 
adviser." 

"I  sha'n't  get  married!"  she  said,  and  blushed  to  her 
temples. 

Mr.  Weston  saw  the  color,  and  his  face,  as  he  closed 
her  door  and  stood  waiting  for  the  elevator,  dulled  a 
little.  "She's  head  over  ears  in  love  with  him.  Well,  he's 
a  very  decent  chap;  it's  an  excellent  match  for  her, — Oh," 
he  apologized  to  the  elevator  boy,  on  suddenly  finding 
himself  on  the  street  floor;  "I  forgot  to  get  off!  You'll 
have  to  take  me  up  again."  In  his  own  office  he  was  dis 
tinctly  curt. 

"I  am  very  busy,"  he  said,  checking  his  stenographer's 
languid  remark  about  a  telephone  call;  "I  am  going  to 
write  letters.  Don't  let  any  one  interrupt  me" — and  the 
door  of  his  private  office  closed  in  her  face. 

92 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  the  young  lady  asked 
herself,  idly;  then  took  out  her  vanity  glass  and  adjusted 
her  marcel  wave. 

Arthur  Weston  put  his  feet  on  his  desk,  and  reflected. 
Why  had  he  said  what  he  did  about  going  to  Europe? 
When  he  went  up  to  see  Fred,  nothing  had  been  farther 
from  his  mind  than  leaving  America.  Well,  he  knew  why 
he  had  said  it.  ...  Flight!  Self-preservation!  "Prepos 
terous,"  he  said,  "what  am  I  thinking  of?  I'm  fond  of 
her,  and  I'm  confoundedly  sorry  for  her,  but  that's 
all.  Anyhow,  Maitland  settles  the  question.  And  if 
he  wasn't  in  it — she's  twenty-five  and  I'm  forty-six." 
He  got  up  and  walked  aimlessly  about  the  room.  "I've 
cut  my  wisdom  teeth,"  he  thought,  with  a  dry  laugh,  and 
wondered  where  the  lady  was  who  had  superintended  that 
teething.  For  Kate's  sake  he  had  taken  a  broken  heart 
to  Europe.  The  remembrance  of  that  heartbreak  re 
assured  him ;  the  feeling  he  had  about  Fred  wasn't  in  the 
least  like  his  misery  of  that  time.  He  gave  a  shrug  of  re 
lief;  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  go  and  see  some 
Chinese  rugs  which  had  been  advertised  in  the  morning 
paper;  "might  give  her  one  for  a  wedding  present? — oh, 
the  devil!  Haven't  I  anything  else  to  think  of  than  that 
girl?"  He  stood  at  the  window  for  a  long  time,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  looking  at  three  pigeons  strutting  and 
balancing  on  a  cornice  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce. 
"She  interests  me,"  he  conceded;  then  he  smiled, — "and 
she  wants  me  to  stay  at  home  and  'take  care  of  her'!" 
Well,  there  was  nothing  he  would  like  better  than  to  take 
care  of  Fred.  The  first  thing  he  would  do  would  be  to 

93 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

shut  up  that  ridiculous  plaything  of  an  "office"  on  the 
tenth  floor.  Billy  Childs  put  it  just  right:  "perfec'  non 
sense!"  Then,  having  removed  "F.  Payton"  from  the 
index  of  the  Sturtevant  Building,  they — he  and  Fred — 
would  go  off,  to  Europe.  He  followed  this  vagrant  thought 
for  a  moment,  then  reddened  with  impatience  at  his  own 
folly:  "What  an  idiot  I  am!  I'm  not  the  least  in  love 
with  her,  but  I'll  miss  her  like  the  devil  when  she  marries 
that  cub  Maitland.  She's  a  perpetual  cocktail!  She'd 
be  as  mad  as  a  hornet  if  she  knew  that  I  never  took 
her  seriously."  He  laughed,  and  found  himself  wishing 
that  he  could  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  tease  her,  and 
scold  her,  and  make  her  "mad  as  a  hornet."  Again  the 
color  burned  in  his  cheeks;  he  would  do  something  else 
than  tease  her  and  scold  her;  he  would  most  certainly 
kiss  her.  "Oh,  confound  it!"  he  said  to  himself,  angrily; 
"I'm  getting  stale/'  He  did  not  want  to  kiss  her!  He 
only  wanted  to  make  her  happy,  and  be  himself  amused. 
"That  is  the  difference  between  now  and  ten  years  ago," 
he  analyzed.  "Kate  never  'amused'  me;  oh,  how  deadly 
serious  it  all  was!"  He  speculated  about  Kate  quite  com 
fortably.  She  was  married;  very  likely  she  had  half  a 
dozen  brats.  Again  he  contrasted  his  feeling  for  Fred 
with  that  brief  madness  of  pain,  and  was  cheered;  it  was 
so  obvious  that  he  was  merely  fond  of  her.  How  could 
he  help  it — she  was  so  honest,  so  unself conscious !  Besides, 
she  was  pathetic.  Her  harangues  upon  subjects  of  which 
she  was  (like  most  of  mankind)  profoundly  ignorant,  were 
funny,  but  they  were  touching,  too,  for  her  complacent 
certainties  would  so  inevitably  bring  her  into  bruising 

94 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

contact  with  Life.  "She  thinks  'suffrage'  a  cure-all,"  he 
thought,  amused  and  pitiful, — "and  she's  so  desperately 
young !"  In  her  efforts  to  reform  the  world,  she  was  like 
some  small  creature  buffeting  the  air.  In  fact,  all  this  row 
that  women  were  making  was  like  beating  the  air.  "  What's 
it  about,  anyhow?"  he  thought.  "What  on  earth  do  they 
want — the  women?"  It  seemed  to  him,  looking  a  little 
resentfully  at  the  ease  and  release  from  certain  lands  of 
toil  that  had  come  to  women  in  the  last  two  or  three 
decades,  that  they  had  everything  that  reasonable  crea 
tures  could  possibly  want.  "  Think  how  their  grandmothers 
had  to  work!"  he  said  to  himself.  "Now,  all  that  these 
ridiculous  creatures  have  to  do  is  to  touch  a  button — 
and  men's  brains  do  the  rest."  Certainly  there  is  an 
enormous  difference  in  the  collective  ease  of  existence; 
women  don't  have  to  make  their  candles,  or  knit  their 
stockings,  as  their  grandmothers  did: — "yet,  nowadays, 
they  are  making  more  fuss  than  all  the  women  that  ever 
lived,  put  together!  What's  the  matter  with  'em?" 

He  grew  quite  hot  over  the  ingratitude  of  the  sex.  His 
old  Scotch  housekeeper,  reading  her  Bible,  and  sewing 
from  morning  to  night,  was  far  happier  than  these  rest 
less,  dissatisfied  creatures,  who,  in  the  upper  classes,  flooded 
into  schools  of  design  and  conservatories  of  music — not 
one  in  a  hundred  with  talent  enough  to  cover  a  five-cent 
piece! — and  in  the  lower  classes  pulled  down  wages  in 
factories  and  shops.  "Amateur  Man,"  he  said,  sar 
castically.  "Suppose  we  tried  to  do  their  jobs?"  Then 
he  paused  to  think  what  Fred's  job,  for  instance,  would  be. 
Not  discovering  it  offhand,  he  told  himself  again  that  if 

95 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

women  would  keep  busy,  like  their  grandmothers — his 
contemptuous  thought  stopped,  with  a  jerk;  how  could 
women  do  the  things  their  grandmothers  did?  What  was 
it  Fred  had  got  off — something  about  machinery  being 
the  cuckoo  which  had  pushed  women  out  of  the  nest  of 
domesticity?  "Why,"  he  was  surprised  into  saying,  "she's 
right!" 

He  came  upon  the  deduction  so  abruptly  that  for  a 
moment  he  forgot  his  sore  feeling  about  Frederica's  youth. 
Suppose  the  women  should  suddenly  take  it  into  their 
heads  to  be  domestic,  and  flock  out  of  the  mechanical 
industries,  back  to  the  "  Home"  ?  Arthur  Weston  whistled. 
"Financially,"  said  he,  candidly,  "we  would  bu'st  in 
about  ten  minutes."  . . . 

"Do  you  want  to  give  me  those  prices  to  Laughlin  be 
fore  I  go  out  to  lunch?"  a  flat  voice  asked  in  the  outer  office; 
he  slid  into  his  desk-chair  as  the  door  opened. 

"  I  haven't  had  time  to  look  them  up  yet.    Don't  wait." 

He  took  up  his  pen,  but  only  made  aimless  marks  on 
his  blotting-paper;  the  interruption  jarred  him  back 
into  irritated  denial  of  possibilities:  "She  amuses  me, 
that's  all;  I'm  not  in  the  least — in  love."  Suddenly, 
with  a  spring  of  resolution,  he  took  down  the  telephone 
receiver  and  called  up  a  number.  The  conversation 
was  brief:  "Hello!  Jim?  .  .  .  Yes;  I'm  Arthur.  Look 
here,  I  want  to  break  away  for  a  week.  .  .  .  Yes — break 
away.  B-r-e-a-k.  I'm  stale.  Can't  you  go  down  to 
the  marshes  with  me,  for  ducks?  .  .  .  What?  Oh,  come 
on!  You're  not  as  important  as  you  think.  .  .  .  What? 
...  I'll  do  the  work — you  just  come  along!" 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

There  followed  a  colloquy  of  some  urgency  on  his  part, 
and  then  a  final,  satisfied  "Good  boy!  Wednesday,  then, 
on  the  seven-thirty." 

He  had  hardly  secured  his  man  before  he  regretted  it; 
the  mere  prospect  of  the  arrangements  he  must  make  for 
the  trip  began  to  bore  him.  However,  he  sat  there  at  his 
desk  and  made  some  memoranda,  conscious  all  the  time 
of  a  nagging  self-questioning  in  the  back  of  his  mind. 
"Pm  not!"  he  said,  again  and  again.  "I'll  get  some  shoot 
ing  and  clear  my  brain  up." 

But  by  the  time  he  had  sent  a  despatch  or  two,  and 
called  Jim  Jackson  up  a  second  time  to  decide  some  detail, 
he  knew  that  shooting  would  not  help  him  much.  The 
nag  had  settled  itself:  he  had  accepted  the  revelation  that 
he  was  "interested"  in  Freddy  Payton.  With  the  con 
trast  between  the  pain  of  the  old  wound  and  the  new,  he 
would  not  use  the  word  "love,"  but  "interest"  committed 
him  to  an  affection,  tender  almost  to  poignancy.  Of  course 
there  was  nothing  to  do  about  it.  He  must  just  take  his 
medicine,  as  Fred  took  hers,  "without  making  faces." 
There  was  nothing  to  strive  for,  nothing  to  avoid,  nothing 
to  expect.  She  was  as  good  as  engaged  to  Howard  Mait- 
land,  and  it  would  be  a  very  sensible  and  desirable  match; 
— to  marry  a  man  of  forty-six  would  be  neither  sensible 
nor  desirable!  No;  the  only  thing  left  to  her  trustee  was 
to  take  every  care  of  her  that  her  eccentricities  would 
permit,  guard  her,  play  with  her,  and  correct  her  appalling 
taste.  "Lord!  what  bad  taste  she  has!"  Also,  while  he 
and  Jackson  were  wading  about  on  the  marshes  for  the 
next  week,  kick  some  sense  into  himself! 

97 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

That  very  evening,  dropping  in  to  the  Misses  Graham's 
and  partaking  of  a  bleakly  feminine  meal,  he  laid  his 
lance  in  rest  for  her. 

Miss  Mary  was  full  of  flurried  apologies  at  the  meager- 
ness  of  the  supper-table,  but  old  Miss  Eliza  said,  with 
spirit,  that  bread  and  milk  would  be  good  for  him !  ' '  Now, 
tell  us  about  that  child,  Arthur,"  she  commanded. 

"You  mean  Fred  Payton,  I  suppose?"  he  said,  raising 
an  annoyed  eyebrow.  "I  don't  call  her  a  'child.'" 

"You  are  quite  right,"  Miss  Mary  agreed,  in  her  Kttle 
neutral  voice;  "she  is  certainly  old  enough  to  know  how 
to  behave  herself." 

"It's  merely  that  she  wants  to  reform  the  world," 
Miss  Eliza  said,  soothingly.  "Reformers  have  no  hu 
mor,  and,  of  course,  no  taste; — or  else  they  wouldn't  be 
reformers!" 

"Your  dear  cousin  Eliza  is  too  kind-hearted,"  Miss 
Mary  said;  but  her  own  kind,  if  conventional,  heart  made 
her  listen  sympathetically  enough  to  the  visitor's  excusing 
recital  of  the  hardships  of  Fred's  life. 

Once,  she  interrupted  him  by  saying  that  it  was,  of 
course,  painful — the  afflicted  brother.  And  once  she  said 
she  hoped  that  Miss  Payton  was  a  comfort  to  her  mother 
— "though  I  don't  see  how  she  can  be,  off  every  day  at 
what  she  calls  her  '  office ' — a  word  only  to  be  applied,  it 
seems  to  me,  to  places  where  gentlemen  conduct  their 
business.  When  I  was  young,  Arthur,  a  girl's  first  duty 
was  in  her  home." 

"Perhaps  there  is  nothing  for  her  to  do  at  home,"  Miss 
Eliza  said. 

98 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"There  is  always  something  to  do,  in  every  properly 
conducted  household.  Let  her  dust  the  china-closet." 

"I'd  as  soon  put  a  tornado  into  a  china-closet  as  that 
girl!  She  ought  to  be  turning  a  windmill,"  Miss  Eliza 
said. 

Her  cousin  gave  her  a  grateful  look,  but  the  other  lady 
was  very  serious.  "I  thought  her  manner  to  her  grand 
mother  most  unpleasant.  Youth  should  respect  Age — " 

"Not  unless  Age  deserves  respect!"  cried  Miss  Eliza, 
tossing  her  old  head. 

Arthur  Weston  had  seen  that  same  flash  in  Fred's  eyes. 
("How  young  she  is!"  he  thought.)  But  her  sister  was 
plainly  shocked. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Eliza!"  she  expostulated.  "I  am  not 
drawn  to  Mrs.  Holmes  myself,  but — " 

"Neither  is  Fred  drawn  to  her,"  Weston  interrupted; 
"and  she  is  so  sincere  that  she  shows  her  feelings.  The 
rest  of  us  don't.  That's  the  only  difference." 

"It  is  a  very  large  difference,"  Miss  Graham  said; 
"this  matter  of  showing  one's  feelings  is  as  apt  to  mean 
cruelty  as  sincerity.  It's  the  reason  the  child  has  no 
charm." 

"I  think  she  has  charm,"  he  said,  frowning. 

There  was  a  startled  silence;  then  Miss  Eliza  said, 
heartily:  " Don't  worry  about  her !  Just  now  she  thinks 
it's  smart  to  put  her  thumb  to  her  nose  and  twiddle  her 
fingers  at  Life — but  she'll  settle  down  and  be  a  dear  child !" 

Miss  Mary  shook  her  head/  "If  I  were  a  friend  of  the 
young  lady,  I  should  worry  very  much.  Maria  Spencer 
called  on  us  yesterday,  and  told  us  a  most  unpleasant 

99 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

story  about  her.  She  spent  the  night  at  an  inn  with  this 
same  young  man  that  she  smoked  with  here.  Oh,  an 
accident,  of  course;  but — " 

"  Miss  Spencer  is  the  town  scavenger,"  Weston  said> 
angrily. 

Miss  Mary  did  not  notice  the  interruption.  "I  cannot 
help  remarking  that  I  do  not  think  that  such  a  young 
woman  would  make  any  man  happy."  ("It  was  difficult 
to  bring  the  remark  in,"  she  told  her  sister,  afterward; 
"but  I  felt  it  my  duty.") 

"The  man  who  gets  Fred  will  be  a  lucky  fellow,"  her 
cousin  declared. 

"You  know  her  very  well,  I  infer,"  Miss  Mary  mur 
mured.  "I  observe  you  use  her  first  name." 

"Oh,  very  well!  And  I  knew  her  father  before  her. 
But  the  use  of  the  first  name  is  one  of  the  new  customs. 
Everybody  calls  everybody  else  by  their  first  name. 
Queer  custom." 

"  Very  queer,"  said  Miss  Mary. 

"Very  sensible!"  said  Miss  Eliza. 

"Ah,  well,  we  must  just  accept  the  fact  that  girls  are 
not  brought  up  as  they  were  when — when  we  were  young" 
— Arthur  Weston  paused,  but  no  one  corrected  that  "we." 
He  sighed,  and  went  on:  "The  tide  of  new  ideas  is  sweep 
ing  away  a  lot  of  the  old  landmarks;  myself,  I  think  it 
is  better  for  some  of  them  to  go.  For  instance,  the  free 
dom  nowadays  in  the  relations  of  boys  and  girls  makes  for 
a  straightforwardness  that  is  rather  fine." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "I  don't  like  what  you  call 
'new  ideas.'  'New'  things  shock  me  very  much." 

100 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I'm  rather  shocked,  myself,  once  in  a  while,"  he 
agreed,  good-naturedly. 

"What  will  you  do,  Mary,  when  the  'new'  heaven  and 
the  'new'  earth  come  along?"  Miss  Eliza  demanded. 

The  younger  sister  lifted  disapproving  hands. 

"As  for  the  girls  smoking,"  Weston  said,  "I  don't 
like  it  any  better  than  you  do.  In  fact,  I  dislike  it.  But 
my  dislike  is  aesthetic,  not  ethical." 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  smoking  is  a  sign  of  the  'new' 
heaven,"  Miss  Mary  said;  —  but  her  sister's  aside — "the 
Other  Place,  more  likely!" — disconcerted  her  so  much 
that  for  a  moment  she  was  silenced. 

"I  never  could  see,"  said  Miss  Eliza,  "that  it  was  any 
wickeder  for  a  lady  to  smoke  than  for  a  gentleman;  but, 
as  I  told  the  child,  a  girl's  lips  ought  to  be  sweet." 

"Her  smoking  is  far  less  serious  than  other  things," 
said  the  younger  sister,  sitting  up  very  straight  and  rigid. 
"I  do  not  wish  to  believe  ill  of  the  girl,  so  I  shall  only 
repeat  that  I  do  not  think  she  will  make  any  man  happy." 

"She  will,"  Miss  Eliza  said,  "if  he  will  beat  her." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Eliza!"  Miss  Mary  remonstrated.  Then 
she  tried  to  be  charitable:  "However,  perhaps  she  is  en 
gaged  to  this  Maitland  person,  in  which  case,  though  her 
taste  would  be  just  as  bad,  her  meeting  him  here  would 
be  less  shocking." 

"If  she  isn't  now,  she  will  be  very  soon,"  Frederica's 
defender  said. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Mary,  grimly,  "let  us  hope  so,  for 
her  sake;  although,  as  I  say,  I  do  not  feel  that  she — " 

Miss  Eliza  looked  at  her  cousin,  and  winked;  he  choked 

101 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

with  laughter.  Then,  with  the  purpose  of  saving  Freddy, 
he  began  to  dissect  Freddy's  grandmother — her  powder 
and  false  hair;  her  white  veil,  her  dog-collar— "  that's  to 
keep  her  double  chin  up,"  he  said.  "Yes!  She  is  very 
lively  for  her  age!"  He  wished  he  could  say  that  old  Mrs. 
Holmes  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting  gentlemen  in  empty 
apartments — anything  to  draw  attention  from  his  poor 
Fred! 

When  he  left  his  cousins,  promising  to  come  again  as 
soon  as  he  got  back  from  his  shooting  trip,  and  declaring 
that  he  hadn't  had  such  milk  toast  in  years,  he  knew  that 
he  had  not  rehabilitated  Frederica.  "But  Cousin  Mary 
feels  that  she  has  done  her  duty  in  warning  me.  Cousin 
Eliza  would  gamble  on  it,  and  give  her  to  me  to-morrow," 
he  thought;  "game  old  soul !  But  even  if  Howard  wasn't 
ahead  of  the  game,  the  odds  would  be  against  me — forty- 
six  to  twenty-five — and,  besides,  what  could  I  offer  her? 
•Ashes!  Kate  trampled  out  the  fire." 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  those  next  few  weeks  Fred  Payton  was  a  little  vague 
and  preoccupied.  The  revelation  which  had  come  to 
her  in  that  moment  before  the  mirror  when  she  had 
kissed  her  own  hand,  remained  as  a  sort  of  undercurrent 
in  her  thoughts,  although  she  did  not  put  it  into  words 
again.  Instead,  she  added  Howard  Maitland  to  her  daily 
possibilities :  Would  she  meet  him  on  the  street  ? — and  her 
eyes,  careless  and  eager,  raked  the  crowds  on  the  pave 
ments!  Would  he  drop  into  her  office  to  say  he  had 
fished  up  a  client  for  her? — and  she  held  her  breath  for  an 
expectant  moment  when  the  elevator  clanged  on  her 
floor.  Would  he  be  at  the  dance  at  the  Country  Club? — 
and  when  he  cut  in,  and  they  went  down  the  floor  together, 
something  warm  and  satisfied  brooded  in  her  heart,  like  a 
bird  in  its  nest.  Sometimes  she  rebuked  herself  for 
letting  him  know  how  pleased  she  was  to  see  him;  and 
then  rebuked  herself  again:  Why  not?  Why  shouldn't 
she  be  as  straightforward  as  he?  Hadn't  he  told  her  he 
would  rather  talk  to  her  than  to  any  man  he  knew? 
She  flung  up  her  head  when  she  thought  of  that ;  she  was 
not  vain,  but  she  knew  that  he  would  not  say  that  to  any 
other  girl  in  their  set.  She  was  very  contented  now;  not 
even  the  ell  room  at  15  Payton  Street  seriously  disturbed 

103 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

her.  The  fact  was,  Life  was  so  interesting  she  hadn't  time 
to  think  of  the  ell  room — Howard,  herself,  her  business, 
her  league !  Yet,  busy  as  she  was,  she  remembered  Flora's 
desire  for  music  lessons,  and  every  two  or  three  days,  be 
fore  it  was  time  to  set  the  table  for  dinner,  she  stood  by 
the  togaed  bust  of  Andy  Payton,  trying  to  teach  the 
pathetically  eager  creature  her  notes.  But  the  lessons, 
begun  with  enthusiasm,  dragged  as  the  weeks  passed; 
poor  Flora's  numb  mind — a  little  more  numb  just  now 
because  Mr.  Baker's  Sam  had  suddenly  vanished  from 
her  horizon — could  not  grasp  the  matter  of  time.  Fred's 
hand,  resting  on  her  shoulder,  could  feel  the  tremor  of 
effort  through  her  whole  body,  as  the  thin,  brown  fingers 
stumbled  through  the  scales: 

"Now!    Count:    One— two— three— " 

"One— two— oh,  land!   Miss  Freddy,  I  cain't." 

1 '  Yes,  you  can.    Try  again. ' ' 

"Why  don'.t  you  jest  show  me  a  tune?" 

"You  have  got  to  know  your  notes  first;  and  you've 
got  to  count,  or  you  never  can  learn." 

"I  don't  want  to  learn,  Miss  Freddy;  I  want  to  play! 
Oh,"  she  said  once,  clutching  her  hands  against  her  breast, 
"I  want  to  play!"  Her  mournful  eyes,  black  and  opaque, 
gleamed  suddenly;  then  a  tear  trembled,  brimmed  over, 
and  dropped  down  on  the  work-worn  fingers.  "I  cain't 
learn,  Miss  Freddy ;  I  'ain't  got  the  'rithmetic.  I  want  to 
make  music!" 

Alas,  she  never  could  make  music!  The  clumsy  hands, 
the  dull  brain,  held  her  back  from  the  singing  heights! 
"I  cain't  learn  'rithmetic,"  she  said  (sixteenth  and  thirty- 

104 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

second  notes  drew  this  assertion  from  her);  "and  if  I 
cain't  play  music  without  'rithmetic,  I  might  as  well  give 
up  now." 

"Well,  you  can't,"  Frederica  said,  helplessly.  She  had 
cut  out  the  last  quarter  of  her  league  meeting  to  come 
home  and  give  Flora  a  music  lesson.  (Up-stairs,  Mrs. 
Payton,  listening  to  the  thump  of  the  scales,  confided  to 
Mrs.  Childs  that  she  didn't  approve  of  Flora's  playing  on 
the  piano.  "The  parlor  is  not  the  place  for  Flora,"  she 
said.)  But,  watched  by  Mr.  Andrew  Payton's  marble 
eyes,  the  slow  fingers  went  on  stumbling  over  the  keys, 
until  Frederica  and  her  pupil  were  alike  disconsolate. 

"You  poor  dear!"  Fred  said,  at  last,  putting  an  impul 
sive  arm  over  the  thin  shoulders;  "  try  once  more !  And, 
Flora,  Sam  isn't  the  only  man  in  the  world.  Come  now, 
cheer  up!  You're  well  rid  of  Sam." 

"Sam?"  said  Flora,  her  face  suddenly  vindictive;  "I 
ain't  pinin'  for  no  Sam!  He  was  a  low-down,  no- 
account  nigger — "  The  door-bell  rang,  and  she  jumped 
to  her  feet.  "I  must  git  my  clean  apron!"  she  said;  and 
vanished  into  the  pantry. 

Frederica  waited,  frowning  uneasily;  callers  were  not 
welcome  at  15  Payton  Street  when  Fred  was  at  home — 
the  consciousness  of  the  veiled  intellect  up-stairs  made  her 
inhospitable.  But  it  was  only  Laura  and  Howard  Mait- 
land,  both  of  them  tingling  with  the  cold  and  overflowing 
with  absurd  and  puppy-like  fun. 

"Feed  us!  Feed  us!"  Laura  demanded;  "we've  walked 
six  miles,  and  we're  perfectly  dead!" 

"Pig!"  said  Fred;  "wait  till  I  yell  to  Flora.  Floral 
8  105 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Tea!"  Her  heart  was  pounding  joyously,  but  with  it 
was  the  agonizing  calculation  as  to  how  long  it  would 
be  before  Miss  Carter  and  her  charge  came  clopping  down 
the  front  stairs  on  their  way  to  the  room  where  Mortimore 
had  his  supper.  "I  don't  mind  Laura,"  Fred  told  herself, 
"but  if  Howard  sees  Morty,  I'll  simply  die!" 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  light  up?"  Maitland  was  ask 
ing;  and  without  waiting  for  her  answer  he  scratched  a 
match  on  the  sole  of  his  boot,  and  fumbled  about  the  big, 
gilt  chandelier  to  turn  on  the  gas. 

"I  didn't  know  you  played,  nowadays,"  Laura  said, 
looking  at  the  open  piano.  "Gracious,  Freddy,  you  do 
everything!" 

"Oh,  I'm  only  teaching  poor  Flora.  She  has  musical 
aspirations.  Howard,  cheer  up  that  fire!" 

Tea  came,  and  Laura  said  kind  things  to  Flora  about 
the  music  lessons;  and  then  they  all  three  began  to  chat 
ter,  and  to  scream  at  each  other's  jokes,  Frederica  all  the 
while  tense  with  apprehension.  .  .  .  ("Miss  Carter  won't 
have  the  sense  to  hold  on  to  him;  he'll  walk  right  in!") 

But,  up-stairs,  her  mother,  leaning  over  the  balusters  to 
discover  who  had  called,  had  the  same  thought,  and  was 
quick  to  protect  her. 

"  It's  your  Lolly,"  Mrs.  Payton  said,  coming  back  to  her 
sister-in-law;  "and  I  think  I  hear  Mr.  Maitland's  voice. 
I  must  tell  Miss  Carter  to  go  down  the  back  stairs  with 
Morty."  Having  given  the  order,  through  the  closed  door 
between  the  two  rooms,  she  sat  down  and  listened  with 
real  happiness  to  the  babel  of  young  voices  in  the  parlor. 
"I  do  like  to  have  Freddy  enjoy  herself,  as  a  girl  in  her 

106 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

position  should,"  she  told  Mrs.  Childs;  "just  hear  them 
laugh." 

The  laughter  was  caused  by  Howard's  displeasure  at 
Fred's  story  of  some  rudeness  to  which  she  had  been  sub 
jected  in  canvassing  for  Smith — "The  Woman's  Candi 
date." 

"If  I'd  been  there,  I'd  have  punched  the  cop's  head!" 
he  said,  angrily. 

Fred  shrieked  at  his  absurdity.  "  If  he'd  said  it  to  you, 
you'd  only  think  it  was  funny;  and  what's  fun  for  the 
gander,  is  fun  for — " 

"No,  it  isn't,"  he  said,  bluntly. 

"Howard,"  Laura  broke  in,  "do  tell  Freddy  the 
news!" 

"It  isn't  much,"  he  said,  modestly;  "I'm  ordered  off; 
that's  all." 

"Ordered  off?"  Fred  repeated;  "where?" 

"Philippines,"  Laura  said.  "Government  expedition. 
Shells  and  things.  Starts  Wednesday." 

"I've  wanted  to  go  ever  since  I  was  a  kid,"  Howard 
explained.  "It's  the  Coast  Survey,  and  I've  been 
pulling  legs  all  winter  for  a'  berth,  and  now  I've  got 
it.  I  came  in  to  see  you  pipe  your  eye  with  grief  at 
my  departure." 

"Grief?  Good  riddance!  You  lost  me  a  client,  taking 
me  out  to  see  those  fool  flats  in  Dawsonville.  Have  an 
other  cigarette.  Lolly,  how  about  you?" 

"No,"  Laura  sighed.  "Billy-boy  would  have  a  fit  if 
I  smoked."  She  looked  at  Fred  a  little  enviously.  "I'm 
crazy  to,"  she  confessed. 

107 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Oh,  don't,"  Maitland  said;  "it  isn't  your  style, 
Laura." 

"Howard,  do  you  really  start  Wednesday?"  Fred  said, 
soberly. 

He  nodded.    ' '  It's  great  luck. ' ' 

"You'll  have  the  time  of  your  life,"  Laura  assured  him; 
<(why  do  men  have  all  the  fun,  Freddy?" 

"Because  we've  been  such  fools  to  let  'em." 

"Ladies  wouldn't  find  it  much  fun — wading  round  in 
the  mud,"  Howard  protested. 

"They  ought  to  have  the  chance  to  wade  round,  if  they 
want  to !"  Fred  said — and  paused :  (was  that  Miss  Carter, 
bringing  Mortimore  ?  Her  breath  caught  with  horror.  She 
was  sure  she  heard  the  lurching  footsteps.  No;  all  was 
silent  in  the  upper  hall) . 

Howard  did  not  notice  her  preoccupation;  he  was 
pouring  out  his  plans,  Laura  punctuating  all  he  said  with 
cries  of  admiration  and  envy.  ("I'll  die  if  Morty  comes 
in!"  Frederica  was  saying  to  herself.) 

"You've  got  to  write  to  me,  Fred,"  Maitland  charged 
her;  " I  haven't  any  relations — 'no  one  to  love  me.'  Do 
write  me  the  news  once  in  a  while." 

"You're  off  day  after  to-morrow?"  she  repeated, 
vaguely;  it  came  over  her,  in  the  midst  of  that  tense 
listening  for  the  shuffling  step  on  the  stairs,  that  she  would 
not  see  him  again — he  would  go  away,  and  she  would  not 
have  had  a  word  alone  with  him!  She  felt,  suddenly,  that 
she  could  not  bear  it.  For  a  moment  she  forgot  Morti 
more.  "If  you  don't  go  up-stairs  and  say  how-do-you-do 
to  Mother,  Laura,"  she  said,  abruptly,  "you'll  get  your- 

108 


HOWARD  DID  NOT  NOTICE  HER  PREOCCUPATION.       HE  WAS  POURING  OUT 

HIS    PLANS,    LAURA    PUNCTUATING    ALL    HE    SAID    WITH    CRIES 

OF   ADMIRATION   AND   ENVY 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

self  disliked.  And  your  mother  is  in  the  sitting-room,  too. ' ' 
Even  if  Miss  Carter  and  Morty  appeared,  she  couldn't 
have  Howard  leave  her  like  this ! 

Just  for  an  instant,  Laura's  face  changed;  then  she 
flung  her  head  up,  and  said,  "Oh,  yes;  I  want  to  see  Aunt 
Nelly.  I'll  be  right  back.  (I'll  give  'em  a  chance,"  she 
told  herself,  grimly.) 

Up-stairs,  she  roamed  about  the  sitting-room,  sniffing 
at  the  hyacinths,  and  looking  into  the  little,  devout  books, 
and  even  adding  a  piece  or  two  to  the  picture  puzzle  on 
the  table.  Then  she  sympathized  with  Mrs.  Payton's 
Christmas  fatigue — "you  oughtn't  to  give  so  many 
presents,  Aunt  Nelly!" 

"Oh,  my  dear,  it  gets  worse  each  year!  People  send 
me  things,  and  of  course  I  have  to  pay  my  debts.  So 
tiresome." 

"  It's  awful,"  said  Laura;  and  straightened  her  mother's 
toque,  and  kissed  her.  "Darling,  your  hat  is  always 
crooked,"  she  scolded,  cuddling  her  cheek  against  her 
mother's.  "Mama,  we're  going  to  have  a  suffrage  parade, 
in  April;  will  you  carry  a  banner?" 

" Oh,  my  dear !"  Mrs.  Payton  protested.  "One  of  those 
horrid  parades  here?  I  thought  we  would  escape  that!" 

"Your  father  won't  think  of  letting  you  walk  in  it, 
Laura,"  Mrs.  Childs  warned  her,  with  amiably  impersonal 
discouragement. 

Laura's  face  sobered:  "You  make  him  let  me,  darling," 
she  entreated. 

Mrs.  Payton  looked  at  them  enviously.  Nobody  hated 
those  vulgar,  muddy,  unladylike  parades  more  than  she 

109 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

did,  but  she  knew,  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  that  if 
Freddy  had  snuggled  against  her,  as  Laura  snuggled  up 
to  Bessie,  she  would  almost  have  walked  in  one  herself! 

"Papa  says  those  parades  are  perfect  nonsense,"  Mrs. 
Childs  said;  "what  good  do  they  do,  anyhow?" 

"We  stand  up  to  be  counted,"  Laura  explained. 

"Papa  won't  allow  it,"  her  mother  repeated,  placidly. 

"I'm  sure  Mr.  West  on  will  use  his  influence  to  prevent 
Freddy's  doing  it,"  said  Mrs.  Payton. 

Then  the  two  ladies  exchanged  their  usual  melancholy 
comments  on  the  times,  and  Laura  listened,  making  her 
own  silent  comments  on  one  fallacy  after  another,  but 
preserving  always  her  sweet  and  cheerful  indifference  to 
their  grievances.  She  looked  at  the  clock  once  or  twice — 
surely  she  had  given  Howard  and  Fred  time  enough !  But 
she  waited  for  still  another  ten  minutes,  then,  coughing 
carefully  on  the  staircase,  went  down  to  the  parlor. 

Her  consideration  was  unnecessary.  Howard,  standing 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  back  to  the  fire,  had 
been  telling  Frederica  that  he  was  going  in  for  conchology 
seriously.  "I  know  you  don't  think  shells  are  worth 
much,"  he  ended,  after  giving  her  what  he  called  a 
"spiel"  as  to  why  he  was  going  and  what  he  was  going 
to  do.  "But  to  me  conchology  is  like  searching  for 
buried  treasure!  I've  been  pawing  round  for  a  real 
job,  and  now  I've  got  it.  I  don't  have  to  earn  money, 
so  I  can  earn  work!  And  I  think  research  work  means 
as  much  to  the  world  as — as  anything  else.  I  wanted 
you  to  know  it  was  a  real  thing  to  me,"  he  ended,  gravely. 

"Shells  aren't  awfully  vital  to  civilization,"  she  said. 

no 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

He  made  no  effort  to  justify  his  choice;  he  had  con 
fessed  the  faith  that  was  in  him,  but  it  was  too  intimate  to 
discuss,  even  with  so  good  a  fellow  as  old  Freddy.  ("  You 
can't  expect  a  woman  to  understand  that  sort  of  thing," 
he  told  himself;  "women  don't  catch  on  to  science — 
except  Laura.  She  sees  the  importance  of  it.")  Then  he 
broke  out  about  Laura's  hat.  "Isn't  it  dinky?  " 

"Yes,"  Fred  said,  impatiently;  they  were  talking  like 
two  strangers!  "Howard,  I  hate  to  have  you  away  in 
April.  We're  going  to  have  our  parade  then,  and  I 
counted  on  you." 

"What  for?"  he  said,  puzzled. 

"To  walk,"  she  said,  impatiently.  His  little  start  of 
astonishment  annoyed  her.  "Perhaps  you  are  glad  to 
miss  it?" 

"I  guess  I  am,"  he  admitted,  honestly.  "I'm  afraid 
I'd  show  the  yellow  streak." 

She  was  plainly  disappointed  in  him. 

"'Course  I  believe  in  suffrage,"  he  said,  "but  I  hate  to 
see  a  lot  of  ladies  walking  in  the  middle  of  the  street." 

"We're  not  'ladies';  we're  women." 

"You're  a  lady,  and  you  can't  escape  it.  And  I'd  hate 
to  see  Laura  do  it,"  he  added. 

Fred  had  not  a  mean  fiber  in  her,  and  jealousy  is  all 
meanness;  but,  somehow,  she  felt  a  stab  of  something 
like  pain.  She  did  not  connect  it  with  Laura;  it  was  only 
because  he  was  indifferent  to  what  was  so  important  to 
her — and  to  Laura,  too.  And  because  he  was  going  away, 
and  here  they  were,  he  and  she,  just  being  polite  to  each 
other! 

in 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Laura  and  I  don't  enjoy  the  middle  of  the  street,"  she 
said;  "but  I  hope  we  won't  funk  it." 

"You  won't,"  he  said;  "you  are  the  best  sport 
going!" 

Her  face  reddened  with  pleasure.  "Oh,  I  don't  know," 
she  disclaimed,  modestly. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Laura's  considerate  delay 
ended.  "I'm  off!"  she  called,  gaily,  from  the  hall;  "How 
ard  needn't  come  until  he  is  good  and  ready!" 

He  was  ready  in  a  flash.  He  gave  Frederica's  hand  a 
hearty  squeeze,  then  turned  to  help  Laura  down  the  front 
steps. 

Fred  closed  the  door  upon  them,  and  went  back  into  the 
parlor.  "He  is  going  away"  she  said  to  herself,  blankly. 
Her  knees  felt  queer,  and  she  sat  down.  "Well,  at  any 
rate,  Morty  didn't  butt  in;  I  couldn't  have  borne 
that."  .  .  . 

Out  in  the  wintry  dusk,  the  other  two  were  silent  for  a 
while.  Then  Maitland  said,  "How  can  she  stand  that 
house?" 

"She's  perfectly  fine,"  Laura  said,  loyally. 

"She's  a  stunner,"  the  young  man  declared;  "I  never 
knew  anybody  just  like  her.  Big,  you  know.  Straight 
forward.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  Fred  in  everything!" 

Laura  gave  him  a  swift  look.  ("  Have  they  fixed  it  up  ?" 
she  thought ;  "I  gave  'em  time  enough !") 

"But  I  wish  she  wouldn't  mix  up  with  Smith,"  he 
said. 

"Smith  believes  in  votes  for  women." 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?    He's  the  worst  kind 

112 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

of  a  boss.  As  Arthur  Weston  says,  to  put  Smith  in  to 
purify  politics,  is  like  casting  out  devils  by  Beelzebub,  the 
Prince  of  Devils." 

"Oh,  well,  we  stand  by  the  people  who  stand  by  us!" 

"She's  dead  wrong,"  Howard  said,  carelessly,  "but  I 
hope  she'll  write  to  me  when  I'm  away.  I  shall  want  to 
hear  that  Smith  has  been  snowed  under." 

"Of  course  she'll  write  to  you,"  Laura  encouraged  him. 
("  No,  they  can't  have  fixed  it  up.  He  wouldn't  say  that, 
if  they  were  engaged.") 

"Say,  Laura,  I  suppose  you — it  would  bore  you  to  send 
me  a  postal  once  in  a  while?  You  might  tell  me  how 
Fred's  business  is  getting  along." 

"She  can  tell  you  herself.  (Good  gracious!  She's 
turned  him  down !  Poor  old  Howard !)  I'm  not  very  keen 
on  writing  letters,  but  I'll  blow  in  a  postal  on  you  once 
in  a  while,  to  tell  you  that  Fred  is  still  in  the  market." 

"I'd  be  awfully  pleased  if  you  would,"  he  said,  eagerly. 

They  were  crossing  Penn  Park,  and  Laura,  looking 
ahead,  said,  nervously:  "See  this  dreadful  person  coming 
along  the  path!  Is  he  drunk?" 

"He  certainly  is,"  Howard  said,  laughing.  She  drew  a 
little  nearer  to  him — and  instantly  he  had  a  friendly  feel 
ing  for  the  lurching  pedestrian! 

"It  frightens  me  to  death  to  see  a  man  like  that,"  she 
said. 

"He  ought  to  be  arrested,"  Howard  said,  joyfully — her 
shoulder  was  soft  against  his!  "Not  that  he  would  hurt 
anybody — he's  just  happy." 

"I'm  not  sandy,  like  Fred,"  she  confessed. 

"3 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Oh,  Fred  would  undertake  to  reform  him,"  he  agreed, 
laughing. 

"Fred  is— oh!"  she  broke  off  with  a  little  shriek;  the 
man,  stumbling,  had  caught  at  her  arm. 

".Excuse  me,  lady,  I — "  Howard's  instant  grip  on  his 
collar  spun  him  around  so  suddenly  that  the  rest  of  the 
hiccoughing  apologies  were  lost  in  astonishment;  he 
stood  still,  swaying  in  his  tracks,  and  gaping  at  the  re 
ceding  pair.  "The  dude  thought  I  was  mashin'  his  girl," 
he  said,  with  a  giggle. 

"Did  he  touch  you?"  Howard  said,  angrily.  He  had 
caught  her  to  him  as  he  swung  the  man  aside,  and  just 
for  an  instant  he  felt  the  tremor  all  through  her.  "  I  ought 
to  have  choked  him!" 

But  she  was  laughing  —  nervously,  to  be  sure,  but  with 
gaiety :  ' '  Nonsense !  poor  fellow — he  stumbled !  Of  course 
he  caught  at  my  arm.  Only  just  for  a  minute  it  frightened 
me — I'm  such  a  goose!" 

"You're  not!"  he  said.  But  for  the  rest  of  the  way  to 
the  Childses'  house,  he  was  very  much  upset.  Laura  had 
been  scared,  and  it  was  his  fault;  he  had  taken  the  west 
path  through  the  park,  because  that  was  the  longest  way 
home,  and  then  he  had  bowled  her  right  into  that  old  soak! 
"I  could  kick  myself  for  taking  the  west  path,"  he  re 
proached  himself,  again  and  again. 

He  hardly  slept  that  night  with  worry  over  having 
made  Laura  Childs  nervous.  "She's  the  scariest  little 
thing  going!"  he  thought;  "but  she  has  sense."  She  had 
agreed  with  him  in  everything  he  said  about  the  value  of 
research  work,  and  when  he  declared  that  science  was 

114 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

the  religion  of  the  man  of  intellect  she  had  said,  "Yes, 
indeed  it  is !"  "  That  shows  what  kind  of  a  mind  she  has, ' * 
he  thought;  "but  wasn't  she  cute  about  not  smoking! 
Her  'father  wouldn't  let  her.'  Of  course  he  wouldn't!  A 
girl  like  that  could  no  more  smoke  a  cigarette  than  a — a 
rose  could,"  he  ended.  This  flight  of  fancy  moved  him  so 
much  that  he  made  a  memorandum  to  send  Laura  some 
roses  the  next  day — "and  old  Fred,  too;  she's  a  stunning 
woman,"  he  said,  with  real  enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER  X 

HOWARD  MAITLAND'S  departure  in  January  for 
the  Philippines  surprised  several  people. 

"Why  should  he  take  such  a  long  journey?"  Miss  Mary 
Graham  said  to  Miss  Eliza — "unless  it  is  that  he  discov 
ered  that  Miss  Payton  is  not  the  sort  of  girl  to  make  any 
man  happy,  and  simply  left  the  country." 

"  I  wager  he  carried  a  mitten  with  him !"  Miss  Eliza  said. 

"What!  You  think  she  refused  him?  Maria  Spencer 
says  she's  only  too  anxious  to  get  him.  Meeting  him  in 
empty  apartments !  Perhaps  that  disgusted  him.  A  gen 
tleman  does  not  like  to  be  pursued."  .  .  . 

"Why  has  he  gone  away?"  Mrs.  Childs  asked  Laura, 
mildly  interested. 

"Because  he  wants  to  hunt  for  shells." 

"But  I  thought  he  was  so  attentive  to  Freddy?" 

"Maybe  she  turned  him  down." 

"She'll  get  a  crooked  stick  at  last,  if  she  doesn't  look 
out,"  her  father  said,  over  the  top  of  his  newspaper. 

Laura  came  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "Fred 
doesn't  need  a  stick,  Billy-boy;  she  can  walk  alone." 

"Every  one  of  you  needs  a  stick,"  Mr.  William  Childs 
assured  her;  "and  I  don't  know  that  I  would  confine  it 

116 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

to  the  thickness  of  my  thumb,  either,  as  the  English  law 
does."  He  reached  up  a  plump  hand  and  pulled  her  ear. 
Afterward  he  told  his  wife  that  Lolly  was  down  by  the 
head:  "What's  the  matter  with  her,  Mother?"  he  said. 
His  two  sons  might  have  failed  in  their  various  businesses, 
or  taken  to  their  beds  with  mumps  or  measles,  and  he 
would  not  have  looked  as  anxious  as  he  did  when  he  heard 
the  little  flat  note  in  Laura's  voice.  "Is  she  off  her  feed 
because  I  won't  let  her  walk  in  that  circus  parade  of 
Fred's?" 

"Well,  she's  disappointed." 

"I  won't  have  a  girl  of  mine  tramping  through  the 
mud — " 

"Perhaps  it  won't  be  muddy." 

"  It  will!  It  always  is.  Anyway,  I  hope  it  will  be.  But 
if  she  is  upset  about  it,  I'll  take  her  to  St.  Louis  with  me 
that  week,  so  she  won't  feel  she's  backed  out.  Mother, 
you  don't  suppose  she's  missing  that  Maitland  chap,  do 
you?  Hey?  What?" 

"Oh,  dear  me,  no!  Why,  Mr.  Maitland  has  been  pay 
ing  attention  to  Freddy  for  the  last  year." 

"Why  doesn't  she  take  him,  and  stop  all  her  nonsense? 
I  hear  she  told  those  poor,  silly  strikers  in  Dean's  rubber- 
factory  to  support  Smith,  the  'Woman's  Candidate'! 
Much  'supporting'  they  can  do!  And  the  joke  of  it  is, 
Smith  himself  owns  the  controlling  stock.  She  had  better 
be  at  home,  darning  her  stockings." 

"Oh,  now,  Father,  you  must  remember  it  isn't  as  if 
Ellen  didn't  have  plenty  of  servants  to  do  things  like 
that." 

117 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I  hear  she's  signed  that  petition  to  have  certain  kinds 
of  diseases  registered.  I  don't  know  what  the  world's 
coming  to,  that  girls  know  about  such  things!" 

"Well,  of  course,  girls  are  more  intelligent  than  they 
used  to  be." 

"If  she's  so  intelligent,  I'll  give  her  a  book  on  Bacon- 
Shakespeare  that  will  exercise  her  brains, — and  she  can 
stop  concerning  herself  with  matters  that  decent  women 
know  nothing  about.  Thank  Heaven,  our  Laura  is  as 
ignorant  as  a  baby!  Or,  if  Fred  is  so  bent  on  reforming 
things,  let  her  have  a  Sunday-school  class,"  said  Mr. 
Childs,  puffing  and  scowling.  "Look  here,  Mother,  if  you 
have  any  influence  over  her,  try  and  get  her  to  take  young 
Maitland.  I  should  sleep  more  easily  in  my  bed  if  I 
thought  she  had  a  man  to  keep  her  in  order." 

"But  he  has  gone  away,"  Mrs.  Childs  objected. 

"  That's  because  she  has  turned  him  down.  Maybe  he'll 
never  think  of  her  again;  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  a  young 
fellow !  I'd  want  a  woman,  not  a  man  in  petticoats.  But 
if  he  does  get  on  her  track  again,  tell  her  to  take  him;  tell 
her  I  say  she'll  get  a  crooked  stick  if  she  waits  too  long. 
You're  sure  Laura  isn't  blue  about  him?" 

"Now,  Father!  You  are  the  most  foolish  man  about 
that  child!  .  .  ." 

"Why  has  Maitland  gone  on  that  expedition,  Fred?" 
said  Mr.  Weston. 

"You  can  search  me,"  said  Miss  Payton. 

Arthur  Weston's  hands,  concealed  in  his  pockets,  tight 
ened.  "She  has  refused  him!"  he  said  to  himself.  (Alas! 

1x8 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

shooting  ducks  on  the  marshes  had  not  helped  him !)  He 
had  dropped  in  at  15  Payton  Street,  and  Fred  had  taken 
him  up  to  the  flounced  and  flowery  sitting-room. 

"Mother  '11  be  in  pretty  soon,"  she  said;  "so  let's  talk 
business,  quick!"  She  was  apparently  absorbed  in  "busi 
ness,"  which,  as  the  winter  thawed  and  drizzled  into 
spring,  flagged  very  much.  "  And  the  office  rent  goes  right 
along,  just  the  same,"  she  told  her  trustee,  ruefully.  "I 
think,  if  I  could  have  a  little  car  to  run  around  and  look 
at  places — " 

"Maitland  put  that  idea  in  your  head!" 

Frederica  did  not  defend  her  absent  adorer.  Instead, 
she  wailed  over  the  rapacity  of  her  landlord. 

"You  ought  to  have  made  your  rent  contingent  on  your 
customers,"  Mr.  Weston  teased  her;  and  roared  when 
she  took  it  seriously  and  said  she  wished  she  had  thought 
of  it.  "Give  me  some  tea,  Fred,"  he  said;  "these  ques 
tions  of  high  finance  exhaust  me."  Then  he  asked  the 
usual  question,  and  Fred  gave  the  usual  answer.  "But 
what  do  you  hear  from  him?"  Weston  persisted.  "I  sup 
pose  you  write  to  him  occasionally?  You  mustn't  be  too 
cruel." 

"Well,  I  don't  hear  much,"  she  said.  She  took  a  letter 
out  of  her  pocket  and  handed  it  to  him. 

When  he  had  read  it,  he  was  silent  for  a  while.  ("If 
this  is  the  sort  of  letter  a  blighted  being  writes,"  he  re 
flected,  "love  has  changed  since  my  time.") 

"Dear  Fred"  the  letter  ran,  "I'm  having  the  time  of  my 
life.  Tell  Laura  Childs  I  saw  a  shell  necklace  that  she'd  be 
perfectly  crazy  about.  The  dredging  ..." 

119 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Then  followed  two  pages  about  shells,  which  Mr. 
Weston,  raising  a  bored  eyebrow,  skipped. 

"Those  books  you  sent  were  bully.  They  look  very  inter 
esting.  I  haven't  had  time  to  read  them  yet.  Tell  Laura 
they  use  boa-constrictors  here  instead  of  cats;  and  tell  her 
that  the  flowers  are  perfectly  wonderful.'" 

Then  came  something  about  suffrage,  ending  with  a 
ribald  suggestion  that  the  suffragists  should  get  a  Fili 
pino  candidate — "He  wouldn't  cost  so  much  as  the  chief  of 
bosses,  Mr.  Smith;  a  Moro  will  root  for  '  votes  for  women ' 
if  you  promise  him  a  bottle  of  whisky." 

"He  is  not  losing  sleep  over  being  rejected,"  Arthur 
Weston  thought,  as  he  handed  the  letter  back  to  her.  .  .  . 
He  had  lost  some  sleep  himself,  lately:  "And  there's  no 
excuse  for  it,"  he  told  himself;  "I  didn't  fall  in  love,  I 
strayed  in — in  spite  of  sign-posts  on  every  corner!  And 
now  I'm  in,  I  can't  get  out.  Damn  it,  I  will  get  out!" 
But  each  day  it  seemed  as  if  he  '  strayed '  farther  in.  ... 

"Why  has  H.  M.  gone  off?"  Laura  asked  Frederica. 

"Why,  you  know!  Shells,"  Fred  said,  astonished  at 
the  question. 

"  Tell  that  to  the  marines.    Freddy,  you  bounced  him !" 

"I  did  not." 

"Well,  then,  if  you  didn't,  what  color  are  the  brides 
maids'  dresses  to  be?"  Laura  retorted. 

"Get  out!"  said  Frederica. 

"Why  has  Mr.  Maitland  left  town?"  Mrs.  Payton  asked 
her  daughter. 

120 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Shells." 

"Oh,"  Mrs.  Payton  said;  "but  I  thought  he — you —  I 
mean,  I  supposed  .  .  .  Freddy,  he's  a  nice  fellow.  I 
wish—" 

"Oh,  nice  enough,"  Fred  admitted,  carelessly. 

"She's  refused  him,"  Mrs.  Payton  thought;  and  sighed. 

Even  Flora  had  to  ask  her  question :  "  Mr.  Maitland  has 
gone  away,  they  say,  Miss  Freddy?" 

"So  I  hear." 

"Men,"  said  Flora,  heavily,  "is  always  going  away! 
Why  can't  they  stay  in  one  place,  same  as  ladies?" 

"They  are  not  so  important  as  we  are,"  Miss  Freddy 
assured  her. 

"  If  they  was  all  swep'  out  of  the  world,  it  would  be  just 
the  same  to  me,"  said  Flora,  viciously. 

Fred  kept  a  severely  straight  face;  all  the  household 
knew  poor  Flora  had  had  another  disappointment, 

"Why?"— "Why?" — everybody  asked.  But  Frederica 
only  thought  "why."  Her  first  feeling  when  he  went  away 
had  been  a  sort  of  blank  astonishment.  Of  course,  it  was 
all  right;  there  was  no  reason  he  shouldn't  go,  only — 
"Why?" 

Every  day,  as  she  worked  at  her  desk,  or  took  a  trolley- 
car  to  the  suburbs  to  inspect  some  apartment,  or  sat  in 
absorbed  silence  opposite  her  mother  at  the  dinner-table, 
she  was  saying,  why?  She  was  certain  that  he  was  fond  of 
her.  "Did  he  go  because  he  thought  I  was  so  deep  in 
business  that  I  wouldn't  bother  with  him?  Or  because 

9  121 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

he  wanted  to  show  me  he  could  put  in  really  serious 
licks  of  work?  Or  because  he  was  afraid  I'd  turn  him 
down?  Of  course,  I  am  awfully  matter-of-fact,"  she  ad 
mitted;  "but  all  the  same,  he's  blind  if  he  thinks  that!" 

Sometimes,  when  her  mother  commented  vaguely  on 
the  weather,  or  on  Flora's  indelicacy  in  being  so  daft 
about  men,  or  Miss  Carter's  perfectly  unreasonable  wish 
to  go  to  the  theater  once  a  week,  besides  her  regular  eve 
ning  out — "I  don't  go  once  a  year,"  Mrs.  Payton  said — 
Frederica  would  start  and  say,  "Beg  your  pardon?  I 
didn't  hear  you."  Nor  would  she  hear  her  mother's 
dreary  sigh. 

"Freddy  has  nothing  in  common  with  me,"  Mrs.  Payton 
used  to  think,  and  sigh  again.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to 
say, ' '  I  have  nothing  in  common  with  Freddy. ' '  Certainly, 
they  had  nothing  of  mutual  interest  to  talk  about. . . .  Mrs. 
Payton  was  wondering  dully  whether  she  had  not  better 
take  a  grain  of  calomel;  why  they  would  not  eat  cold 
mutton  in  the  kitchen ;  whether  Flora  wouldn't  be  a  little 
more  cheerful  now,  for  Miss  Carter  said  that  the  Mc- 
Knights'  chauffeur  was  making  up  to  her Fred  was  won 
dering  how  soon  her  last  letter  would  reach  Howard  Mait- 
land;  foreseeing  his  interest  in  its  contents — the  news 
that  Smith  had  been  beaten,  but  pledged  to  the  support 
of  suffrage  in  his  next  campaign;  calculating  as  to  the 

earliest  possible  date  of  his  reply Mrs.  Payton  was 

right;  they  had  nothing  in  common.  By  and  by,  as  the 
weeks  passed,  the  mother  and  daughter,  together  only  at 
meals,  lapsed  into  almost  complete  silence. 

"I  love  both  my  children  just  the  same,  but  Mortimore 

122 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

is  more  of  a  companion  than  she  is,"  Mrs.  Payton  thought, 
bitterly. 

There  was,  however,  one  moment,  in  April,  when  Fred- 
erica  did  talk.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Holmes  had  come  in  to  dinner, 
and  somehow  things  started  badly.  Mrs.  Payton  had  said, 
sighing,  that  she  was  pretty  tired;  "  I  really  haven't 
got  over  the  Christmas  rush,  yet,"  she  complained.  And 
Frederica,  with  a  shrug,  said  that  the  Christmas  debauch 
was  getting  worse  each  year.  Then  the  suffrage  parade 
was  discussed.  It  had  taken  place  the  day  before,  in 
brilliant  sunshine,  and  on  perfectly  dry  streets,  which 
greatly  provoked  Mrs.  Holmes,  who  had  prayed  for  rain. 
Naturally,  she  made  vicious  thrusts  at  the  women  who 
took  their  dry-shod  part  in  it.  She  was  thankful,  she  said, 
that  William  Childs  had  locked  Laura  up;  anyhow,  she 
hadn't  disgraced  the  family! 

"Do  you  call  taking  her  to  St.  Louis  Mocking  her  up'?" 
Fred  inquired.  "Laura  gave  in  to  Billy-boy,  which  was 
rather  sandless  in  her.  She  is  a  dear,  but  she  hasn't  much 
sand." 

"She  has  decency,  which  is  better.  To  show  yourselves 
off  to  a  lot  of  coarse  men—" 

"Mr.  Weston  watched  the  procession." 

"Only  coarse  women  would  do  such  a  thing!  And 
Arthur  Weston  might  have  had  something  better  to  do!" 

Frederica  held  on  to  herself;  she  even  refrained  from 
quoting  Mr.  Weston's  comment  on  the  parade:  "No 
doubt  there  were  women  in  the  procession  who  liked  to  be 
conspicuous;  but  there  were  others  who  marched  with  the 
consecration  of  martyrs  and  patriots!"  But  of  course  it 

123 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

needed  only  a  word  to  bring  an  explosion.    The  word  was 
innocent  enough: 

"That  Maitland  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes  — " I've 
dropped  my  napkin,  Flora;  pick  it  up — why  did  he  sud 
denly  leave  everything  and  go  off?" 

"Freddy  says  he's  gone  to  dig  shells,"  said  Mrs.  Payton. 

"Dig  what?"  said  Mrs.  Holmes;  "people  mumble  so 
nowadays,  nobody  can  understand  them!  Oh,  shells? 
Yes.  Funny  thing  to  do,  but  I  believe  it's  quite  the  thing 
for  rich  young  men  to  amuse  themselves  in  some  scientific 
way.  I  suppose  it  doesn't  need  brains,  as  business  does." 

"It  isn't  amusement,"  Frederica  said;   "it's  work." 

Upon  which  her  grandmother  retorted,  shrewdly :  "  Any 
thing  you  do  because  you  want  to,  not  because  you  have 
to,  is  an  amusement,  my  dear.  Like  your  real-estate 
business." 

Frederica's  lip  hardened. 

"However,"  Mrs.  Holmes  conceded,  "to  make  his  way 
in  the  world,  a  rich  man,  fortunately,  doesn't  need  to  be  in 
telligent,  any  more  than  a  pretty  girl  needs  to  be  clever" — 
she  gave  her  granddaughter  a  malicious  glance;  "all  the 
same,  young  Maitland  had  better  settle  down  and  get 
married,  and  spend  some  of  the  Maitland  money.  (There 
goes  my  napkin  again,  Flora!)" 

"I'd  have  no  respect  for  him,  if  he  did,"  Fred  said. 
"He  would  be  too  much  like  this  family — living  on  dead 
brains." 

Her  grandmother  turned  angry  eyes  on  Mrs.  Payton. 
"You  may  know  what  your  daughter  means,  Ellen;  I'm 
sure  I  don't!" 

124 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean,"  Frederica  said,  "you  and 
Mother  simply  live  on  the  money  your  husbands  made 
and  left  you  when  they  died.  Since  you  were  a  girl,  when 
you  had  to  work  because  you  were  poor,  you  have  never 
done  a  hand's  turn  to  earn  your  living.  Mother  has  never 
done  anything.  You  are  both  parasites.  Well,  I  am,  too ; 
but  there's  this  difference  between  us:  I  am  ashamed,  and 
you  are  not.  I  am  trying  to  do  something  for  myself.  But 
the  only  thing  you  two  will  do  for  yourselves  will  oe  to 
die."  She  looked  at  her  speechless  grandmother,  apprais- 
ingly.  "Yes,  death  will  be  a  real  thing  to  you,  Grand 
mother.  You  can't  get  anybody  else  to  do  your  dying 
for  you." 

"Ellen!  Really!"  Mrs.  Holmes  gasped  out. 

"Freddy,  stop!"  her  mother  said,  hysterically. 

"Well,  what  have  either  of  you  ever  done  to  earn  what 
you  are  at  this  moment  eating?"  Fred  inquired,  calmly. 

Mrs.  Payton  was  speechless  with  displeasure,  but  Mrs. 
Holmes,  shivering  from  the  chill  of  that  word  Fred  had 
used,  helped  herself  wildly  from  a  dish  Flora  had  been 
holding,  unnoticed,  at  her  elbow.  "Ellen,  I  simply  will 
not  come  here,  if  you  allow  that  girl  to  speak  in  this  way 
— before  a  servant,  too!"  she  added,  as  Flora  retreated  to 
the  pantry. 

"I  merely  told  the  truth,"  Fred  said,  with  a  bored  look. 

"Well,"  said  her  grandmother,  "then  I  will  tell  you 
the  truth !  You  are  a  very  unpleasant  girl.  And  I  don't 
wonder  you  are  not  married — no  man  would  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  ask  you!  A  girl  who  cheapens  herself  by  lock 
ing  herself  up  in  empty  flats  with  any  young  man  she 

125 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

happens  to  meet,  and  signs  indecent  petitions,  and  rants 
in  the  public  streets  to  a  lot  of  strikers — why,  you  are  not 
a  lady!  You  are  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff;  and  you  have  no 
manners,  and  no  sense,  and  no  heart — you've  nothing  but 
cleverness,  which  is  about  as  attractive  to  a  man  as  -a 
hair  shirt!  Maria  Spencer  told  me  she  expected  you 
would  be  ruined;  but  I  said  I  would  think  better  of  you 
if  you  were  capable  of  being  ruined,  or  if  anybody  wanted 
to  ruin  you.  You  are  not  a  woman ;  you  are  a  suffragist ! 
That's  why  you  haven't  any  charm;  not  a  particle!" 

"Thank  Heaven!"   Frederica  murmured. 

"Well,  unless  men  have  changed  since  my  day,"  Mrs. 
Holmes  said,  shrilly,  "a  man  wants  charm  in  a  woman, 
more  than  he  wants  brains." 

"It  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me  what  men  want," 
Fred  commented. 

Her  grandmother  did  not  notice  the  interruption — 
"Though  when  we  were  young,  some  of  us  had  brains 
and  charm,  too!  There!  That's  the  truth,  and  how  do 
you  like  it  ?  Ellen,  why  do  you  have  your  napkins  starched 
so  stiffly — they  won't  stay  on  your  lap  a  minute!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

"  T  NEVER  noticed  her  looks,"  Howard  Maitland  was 

•*•  saying,  as  he  and  another  member  of  the  Survey  Ex 
pedition  lounged  against  the  railing  of  their  tubby  little 
vessel  and  looked  idly  down  on  an  oily  sea.  They  had 
been  talking  about  women — or  Woman,  as  Frederica  Pay- 
ton  would  have  expressed  it;  and,  naturally,  she  herself 
came  in  for  comment. 

"Pretty?"  Thomas  Leighton  had  asked,  sleepily.  It 
was  very  hot,  and  the  flats  smelt  abominably;  both  men 
were  muddy  and  dripping  with  perspiration. 

Howard  meditated:  "I  never  noticed  her  looks.  She 
keeps  you  hustling  so  to  know  what  she's  talking  about, 
that  looks  don't  count.  She  says  things  that  make  you 
sit  up — but  lots  of  girls  do  that." 

"They  do.  Boring  after  the  first  shock.  But  they  en 
joy  it.  It  draws  attention  to  'em.  Our  grandmothers  used 
to  faint  all  over  the  lot,  for  the  same  purpose." 

"Sometimes,"  Howard  said,  grinning,  "when  they  get 
going  about  sex,  I  don't  know  where  to  look!" 

"Look  at  them.  That's  what  they  want.  And  as  most 
of  'em  don't  know  what  they're  talking  about,  you  needn't 
be  uncomfortable.  When  they  orate  on  Man's  injustice  to 
Woman — capital  M  and  capital  W — I  get  a  little  weary." 

127 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I'm  with  'em,  there!"  Maitland  said. 

The  older  man  gave  a  grunt  of  impatience:  "It  isn't 
men  who  are  unfair  to  women;  it's  Nature.  But  I  don't 
see  what  can  be  done  about  it.  Even  the  woman's  vote 
won't  be  very  successful  in  bucking  Nature." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you !  Nature  is  perfectly  impartial. 
Brain  has  no  sex!" 

" Nature  impartial?"  Leighton  repeated,  grimly; 
"Maitland,  when  the  time  comes  for  you  to  sit  outside 
your  wife's  room,  and  wait  for  your  first-born,  you  will 
not  call  Nature  impartial.  Theories  are  all  very  pretty, 
but  just-try  waiting  outside  that  door — "  his  face  twitched; 
and  Howard,  remembering  vaguely  that  Mrs.  Leighton 
had  been  an  invalid  since  the  birth  of  their  only  child, 
changed  the  subject: 

"Miss  Payton's  just  sent  me  a  cartload  of  suffrage 
literature;  came  on  the  tug  yesterday." 

"Suffragist?— you,  I  mean?" 

"Yes;   aren't  you?    Let's  get  in  the  flap  of  that  sail." 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  suffragist?"  the  other  man  demanded. 

Howard  surveyed  him.  "I  don't  know  the  earmarks, 
but  you  show  traces  of  intelligence,  so  I  suppose  you  are." 

"I'll  tell  you  the  earmarks — in  the  human  male: 
amiable  youth  or  doddering  age." 

"You're  not  guilty  on  the  amiability  charge,  and  you 
don't  visibly  dodder.  So  I  suppose  you're  an  anti." 

"Not  on  your  life !  It's  a  case  of  a  plague  on  both  your 
houses." 

They  were  silent  for  a  while,  looking  across  the  lagoon 
at  a  low  reef  where,  all  day  long,  the  palms  bent  and 

128 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

rustled  in  the  hot  wind ;  then  Leighton  broke  out:  "For 
utter  absence  of  logic  I  wouldn't  know  which  party  to 
put  my  money  on." 

"Play  the  antis,"  Howard  advised. 

But  the  other  man  demurred.  "It's  neck  and  neck. 
Some  of  the  arguments  of  the  antis  indicate  idiocy;  but 
some  of  the  suffs'  arguments  indicate  mania — homicidal 
mania!  It's  a  dead  heat.  It's  queer,"  he  ruminated; 
"each  side  has  sound  reasons  for  the  faith  that  is  in  it,  yet 
they  both  offer  us  such  a  lot  of — truck!  One  of  the 
mysteries  of  the  feminine  mind,  I  suppose."  He  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  on  the  deck-rail,  and  yawned. 
"As  an  example  of  'truck,'  I  heard  an  anti  say  that  for 
a  woman  to  assume  the  functions  of  a  man,  and  vote,  was 
to  ' revert  to  the  amoeba/  Can  you  match  that?  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  look  at  the  suffs!  My  own  sister-in-law 
(a  mighty  fine  woman)  told  me  that  men  'were  of 'no 
use  except  to  continue  the  race.'" 

"That's  going  some!" 

"But  of  course,"  the  older  man. said,  "it  is  ridiculous 
to  make  sex  either  a  qualification  or  a  disqualification  for 
the  ballot ;  and  it's  absurd  that  my  wife  shouldn't  have  a 
vote  when  that  old  Portuguese  fool  from  Gloucester, 
Massachusetts,  who  guts  our  fish  and  can't  speak  English 
so  that  an  American  dog  could  understand  him — has  it." 

"That's  just  it!"  Howard  said,  surprised  at  his  fairness. 

"Why  multiply  him  by  two?"  Leighton  said,  dryly. 

"We  wouldn't  be  a  democracy  if  we  discriminated 
against  the  uneducated!" 

"I  don't.  I  discriminate  against  the  unintelligent. 

129 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

You'll  admit  there's  a  difference?  Also,  allow  me  to  re 
mind  you  that  democracy  is  not  the  ballot;  it's  a  state 
of  mind." 

"Very  well!"  Maitland  retorted.  "Make  intelligence 
the  qualification:  the  women  put  it  over  us  every  time! 
They  are  far  more  intelligent  than  men." 

"I'd  like  to  hear  you  prove  it." 

"That's  easy!  Girls  can  stay  in  school  longer  than 
boys,  so  they  are  better  educated." 

"But  I'm  not  talking  about  schooKng!"  Leighton  broke 
in;  "I  mean  just  common  sense  as  to  functions  of  the 
ballot.  Let  women  ask  for  an  intelligence  qualification, 
and  I'll  be  the  biggest  kind  of  a  suff !  But  while  they  don't 
know  any  more  about  what  the  ballot  can  and  can't  do, 
than  to  gas  about  its  raising  woman's  wages — oh,  Lord!" 
he  ended,  hopelessly. 

"Suffrage  in  itself  is  educating,"  Howard  instructed  him. 

Leighton  nodded.  "It  ought  to  be.  But  I  can't  see 
that  it  has  perceptibly  educated  our  fish-gutter.  Still, 
you'd  like  to  meet  his  wife  at  the  polls?" 

The  suffragist  hesitated:  "When  women  get  the  vote, 
they'll  change  the  election  laws,  and  weed  out  the  unfit." 

Leighton  lifted  despairing  hands :  "When  you  say  things 
like  that,  I  feel  like  putting  my  money  on  the  suffs! 
Mait,  get  out  of  the  cradle!  Our  grandfathers  made  a 
mess  of  it,  by  dealing  out  universal  male  suffrage;  and 
our  fathers  made  a  worse  mess  in  giving  it  to  the  male 
negro;  now  the  women  want  to  make  asses  of  themselves, 
just  as  we  did.  They  are  always  yapping  about  being  our 
'equals.'  They  are!  They  are  as  big  fools  as  we  are. 

130 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Bigger,  for  they  have  the  benefit  of  observing  our  blunders, 
and  being  able  to  avoid  them — and  they  won't  do  it! 
Because  Mr.  Portugee  has  the  ballot,  Mrs.  Portugee 
must  have  it,  too.  They  say  it  wouldn't  be  'fair'  to 
leave  her  out.  You'd  think  they  were  a  parcel  of  school 
girls!  If  women  would  ask  for  a  limited  suffrage,  ask  for 
the  vote  for  my  wife,  so  to  speak — a  vote  for  any  intelli- ' 
gent  woman,  cook  or  countess! — I'd  hold  up  both  hands, 
and  so  would  most  men." 

"It  isn't  practical." 

"  Practical  enough,if  wewanted  to  do  it.  And  thinkwhat 
we  could  accomplish — the  intelligent  men,  and  the  intelli 
gent  women !  The  people  who  buy  and  sell  Mr.  Portugee 
would  be  snowed  under; — which  is  the  reason  the  corrupt 
element  in  politics  object  to  a  limited  suffrage  for  women ! 
They  need  Mr.  Portugee  in  their  business,  and  rather  than 
lose  him,  they'll  take  Mrs.  P.,  too.  So  what's  the  use  of 
talking  ?  Votes  for  Women  will  come,  in  spite  of  all  the  antis 
in  the  land,  for  in  this  woman's  scrimmage,  though  the  antis 
have  the  charm, the  suffragists  have  the  brains;  and  brains 
always  win,  no  matter  how  bad  the  cause!  They'll  get 
it — I'm  betting  that  they'll  get  it  in  five  years." 

"You  ought  to  hear  Miss  Pay  ton  talk  about  it,"  Mait- 
land  said;  "she'd  floor  you  every  time.  She's  got  a 
mighty  pretty  cousin,"  he  rambled  off;  "she  has  charm." 

"Suffragist?" 

"Laura  Childs?  You  bet  she  is!  And  she  has  brains. 
Not  like  Miss  Payton,  of  course.  But — "  he  straightened 
up,  and  his  eyes  began  to  shine;  his  description  of  Laura 
was  so  explicit  that  his  companion  smiled. 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Oh,  that's  the  lay  of  the  land,  is  it?"  he  said. 

To  which  Howard  responded  by  telling  him  to  go  to 
thunder.  ''Trouble  with  Miss  Childs,"  he  said,  "is  that 
the  fellows  are  standing  in  a  queue  up  to  her  father's  door 
steps,  waiting  to  get  a  chance  at  her." 

"Why  did  you  step  out  of  line?" 

"I'll  tell  you  the  kind  of  a  girl  she  is,"  Howard  said, 
ignoring  the  question.  "Of  course,  a  man  never  would 
get  stuck  with  Laura  at  a  dance,  but  she's  the  kind, 
if  she  thought  he  was  stuck,  would  make  some  sort  of 
excuse — say  she  wanted  to  speak  to  her  mother — so 
as  to  shake  him.  No  man  ever  wants  to  get  clear  of 
Laura,  but  she's  that  kind  of  girl.  That's  why  men 
hang  round  so." 

"You  evidently  didn't  hang  round?" 

Howard  yawned.  "Did  I  show  you  the  pearl  I  found 
yesterday?"  he  asked,  and  produced,  after  much  rum 
maging  in  his  various  pockets,  a  twist  of  paper.  Leigh- 
ton  inspected  the  pearl  without  enthusiasm. 

"Good  so  far  as  it  goes.  Hardly  big  enough  for  the 
ring." 

Howard  gave  him  a  thrust  in  the  ribs.  "I'm  going  down 
to  the  cabin." 

In  his  sweltering  state-room  he  looked  at  his  find,  criti 
cally.  "  No,  it  isn't  big  enough,"  he  decided.  '  *  Well,  may 
be  I'll  never  have  a  chance  to  produce  a  ring,"  he  added, 
dolefully;  then  he  dropped  the  pearl  into  his  collar-box, 
and  mopped  the  perspiration  from  his  frowning  forehead. 
"Wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  cool  enough  in  this  life  to  wear 
a  collar?"  he  speculated.  After  all,  why  had  he  stepped 

132 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

out  of  the  line?  "I  wish  I'd  prospected  before  I  left 
home!"  Yet  he  realized  that  he  had  not  known  how 
much  Laura  counted  in  his  life  until  he  got  away  from 
her.  Out  here,  "digging  for  buried  treasure"  in  the  blaz 
ing  sun,  lying  on  deck  through  velvet,  starlit  nights,  the 
recollection  of  that  "queue"  lining  up  at  Billy-boy's  front 
door-steps  had  become  first  an  irritation,  and  by  and 
by  an  uneasiness.  He  had  had  one  card  from  her, — 
"7°  above.  Don't  you  wish  you  were  as  cold  as  we 
are?"  The  photograph  on  the  back  revealed  a  snowy 
mountain-side  that  was  tantalizing  to  a  man  who  had 
nothing  to  look  at  but  blazing,  palm-fringed  reefs,  and 
who,  for  weeks,  had  been  sweating  at  104°.  And  it  was 
not  only  the  temperature  that  tantalized  him — in  the 
foreground  of  the  picture  were  half  a  dozen  of  his  set  on 
skis.  Laura,  in  a  sweater  and  a  woolly  white  toque,  was 
putting  a  mittened  hand  into  Jack  McKnight's,  to  steady 
herself.  Howard  had  not  liked  that  card.  "McKnight's 
got  on  his  Montreal  rig,  all  right,"  he  thought,  contemptu 
ously;  "he  always  dresses  for  the  part!" 

It  was  that  postal  which  had  aroused  his  uneasiness 
about  the  queue,  and  set  him  to  counting  the  weeks  until 
he  could  get  into  the  line  again.  Also,  it  made  him 
write  rather  promptly  to  Frederica  Payton : 

"Hasn't  Jack  McKnight  got  any  job?  He's  a  pretty  suc 
cessful  loafer  if  he  can  go  off  skiing  all  around  the  clock. 
Why  doesn't  Laura  put  an  extinguisher  on  him?  How  is 
Laura?  I  suppose  she  and  Jack  are  having  the  time  of  their 
young  lives  this  winter" 

It  was  well  on  in  July  before  Fred's  reply  to  that  par- 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

ticular  letter  reached  him,  and  it  made  him  tell  Tom 
Leighton  that  Miss  Pay  ton — "You  remember  I  told  you 
about  her?" — was  the  finest  woman  he  had  ever  known. 
"No  sentimental  squash  about  Freddy  Pay  ton!"  This 
tribute  was  given  because  Fred  had  said: 

"Laura  hasn't  confided  in  me,  but  Tm  betting  that  she'll 
turn  Jack  McKnight  down.  He's  not  good  enough  to  black 
her  boots,  and  nowadays  women  demand  that  men — " 

At  this  point  Howard  folded  the  letter  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket.  "Laura '11  bounce  him!"  he  said  to  himself; 
and  for  the  next  hour  he  expatiated  to  Mr.  Leighton  upon 
the  charm  of  common  sense  in  a  woman — the  woman 
being  Miss  Payton,  of  whom  his  hearer  was  getting  just 
a  little  tired;  but  he  was  confused,  too.  At  the  end  of  an 
hour  his  gathering  perplexity  found  words: 

"But  I  thought  it  was  the  pretty  cousin  you  were  gone 
on?" 

"You  did,  did  you?"  Howard  said.  "  Digging  shells  has 
affected  your  brain,  Tommy." 


CHAPTER  XII 

Q  PRING  had  sauntered  very  slowly  up'the  Ohio  Valley 
**?  that  year.  During  a  cold  and  slushy  April,  Frederica 
paid  her  advertising  bills,  and  was  assured  that  the  Misses 
Graham  would  want  her  to  engage  an  apartment  for  them 
in  the  autumn.  Also,  she  found  a  flat  for  a  lady  with 
strikingly  golden  hair,  who  later  departed  without  paying 
her  rent.  This  created  a  disgruntled  landlord  and  in 
structed  the  real-estate  agent  in  the  range  of  adjectives 
disgruntled  landlords  can  use.  In  May  she  was  almost 
busy  in  finding  houses  on  the  lake  and  in  the  mountains 
for  summer  residents;  but  her  traveling  expenses  to  and 
from  the  various  localities  were  so  large  that  she  had  to 
apply  to  her  man  of  business  for  an  advance  from  her 
allowance. 

"Look  here,  Fred,"  he  said,  "you  can't  live  on  your 
future  commission  from  Cousin  Eliza.  Don't  you  think 
you've  had  about  enough  of  this  kind  of  thing?" 

"I  do  not!"  she  said.  "You  can  sponge  my  head  be 
tween  rounds,  but  you  can't  stop  the  mill.  I  don't  pull 
off  the  gloves  till  I  see  it  through.  And  I'm  twenty-two 
dollars  ahead  of  last  month!" 

She  had  induced  him  to  go  with  her  and  Zip  to  see  the 
tiny  furnished  cottage  she  had  hired  for  the  summer 

135 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

in  Lakeville — the  cheerfully  vulgar  suburb  of  Laketon 
where  persons  of  her  own  sort  played  at  farming.  Lake 
ville  was  only  a  handful  of  flimsy  frame  houses  scat 
tered  along  under  the  trees  close  to  the  sedgy  edge  of  the 
lake.  Wooden  piers  ran  out  into  deep  water,  and,  when 
the  season  opened,  collected  joggling  fleets  of  skiffs  and 
canoes  about  their  slimy  piles.  As  yet,  the  houses  were 
unoccupied,  but  the  spirit  of  previous  tenants,  as  indi 
cated  by  names  painted  above  the  doors — "Bide-a-Wee," 
and  "Herestoyou" — had  been  very  social.  Sentimental 
minds  were  confessed  in  "Rippling  Waves,"  and  "Sweet 
Homes."  Fred's  "bungalow,"  its  shingled  sides  weathered 
to  an  inoffensive  gray,  was  labeled,  over  its  tiny  piazza, 
"Sunrise  Cottage." 

"I  think  that's  why  I  took  it,"  she  told  Mr.  Weston, 
when,  having  inspected  its  shoddy  interior  and  paused  on 
the  porch  to  look  at  the  far-off  church  spire  of  Laketon, 
they  wandered  down  to  a  ledge  of  rock  that  jutted  out 
into  the  lake;  "women  are  going  to  raise  the  sun  of  free 
dom!" 

"I  hope  they  won't,  accidentally,  raise  Cain,"  he  mur 
mured.  "Fred,  the  lamp  on  your  center-table  almost  put 
my  eyes  out!  Do  the  Lakevillians  really  think  that  kind 
of  junk  beautiful?" 

"They  do.  But  don't  be  cocky;  we  thought  it  beauti 
ful  ourselves  not  so  very  long  ago — if  it  was  only  expen 
sive  enough!  Look  at  the  parlor  in  Payton  Street." 

"That  magenta  shade  with  the  autumn  leaves  on  it 
is  the  most  horrible  thing  I  ever  saw,"  he  said,  shud 
dering. 

136 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I  shall  have  lots  of  candles  and  a  student's  lamp  to 
mitigate  it,"  she  comforted  him. 

They  had  settled  down  on  the  rock,  Zip  dozing  against 
Fred's  knee.  It  was  an  exquisite  May  afternoon.  Every 
thing  was  very  still ;  once  a  bird  fluted  in  the  distance,  and 
once,  on  the  piazza  of  a  boarded-up  cottage,  a  chipmunk 
scurried  through  the  drift  of  last  year's  leaves.  A  haze 
of  heat  lay  on  the  water  that  crinkled  sometimes  under  a 
cat's-paw  of  wind,  and  then  lapped  faintly  in  the  sedges. 
The  woods,  crowding  close  to  the  shore,  were  showing  the 
furry  grayness  of  young  oak  leaves,  and  here  and  there  a 
maple  smoldered  into  flame.  Frederica,  absently  poking 
a  twig  under  patches  of  lichen  and  flaking  them  off  into 
the  water,  was  saying  to  herself  that  in  about  six  months 
Howard  Maitland  would  be  at  home. 

"Lakeville  is  so  unnecessarily  hideous,"  Mr.  Weston 
meditated;  "I  can't  see  why  you  should  like  it." 

' '  Because  my  friends  come  here — people  who  work!  I'm 
going  to  start  a  suffrage  club  for  them." 

"How  grateful  they  will  be!"  he  said.  His  amiability 
when  he  was  bored  was  very  marked. 

"But  I  had  to  cave,"  Fred  said,  "about  having  Flora 
here  when  I  stay  all  night.  The  Childs  family  felt  they 
would  be  compromised  if  people  in  Laketon  knew  that 
Billy-boy's  niece  flocked  by  herself  in  Lakeville.  The 
Childses  are  personages  in  Laketon!  Aunt  Bessie  is  the 
treasurer  of  the  antis,  and  runs  a  gambling-den  on  Thurs 
day  afternoons — she  calls  it  her  Bridge  Club.  And  Billy 
boy  has  a  Baconian  Club,  Saturday  nights.  My,  how 
useful  they  are!  As  my  unconventionality  would  injure 
10  137 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

their  value  to  society,  I  said  I  would  hold  Flora's  hand. 
How  much  use  do  you  suppose  Flora  would  be  if  thieves 
broke  in  to  steal?" 

"She  would  be  another  scream.  And  you'll  like  to  have 
her  wash  the  dishes  for  you." 

"Flora  is  too  much  in  love  to  wash  dishes  well,"  Fred 
said.  "Besides,  I  don't  mind  washing  'em,  and  /  do  it 
well.  The  idea  that  women  who  think  can't  do  things  like 
that  is  silly.  We  do  housework,  or  any  other  work,  in 
finitely  better  than  slaves." 

'  'Slaves'  being  your  mothers  and  grandmothers?" 

Frederica  nodded,  prying  up  a  piece  of  moss  and  snap 
ping  the  twig  off  short. 

"Oh,  Fred,  you  are  very  funny!" 

"Glad  I  amuse  you.  Pitch  me  that  little  stick  under 
your  foot." 

He  handed  it  to  her,  and  she  began  to  dig  industriously 
into  the  cracks  and  crevices  of  the  old  gray  rock.  "The 
idea  of  calling  Mrs.  Holmes  a  slave  is  delightful,"  he  said. 

"She  is  a  slave  to  her  environment!  Do  you  think  she 
would  have  dared  to  do  the  things  I  do?" 

"She  wouldn't  have  wanted  to." 

"You  evade.  Well,  I  suppose  you  belong  to  another 
generation."  Arthur  Weston  winced.  "  Don't  you  think 
it's  queer,"  she  ruminated,  "that  a  man  like  Howard 
Maitland  is  satisfied  to  fool  around  with  shells?"  When 
ever  she  spoke  of  Howard,  a  dancing  sense  of  happiness 
rose  like  a  wave  in  her  breast.  "Why  doesn't  he  get  into 
politics,  and  do  something!"  she  said.  Her  voice  was 
disapproving,  but  her  eyes  smiled. 

138 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Perhaps  he  likes  to  keep  his  hands  clean." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  vehemently,  "that's  what  I  hate  about 
men.  The  good  ones,  the  decent  ones,  are  so  afraid  of 
getting  a  speck  of  dirt  on  themselves!  That's  where 
women — not  Grandmother's  kind — are  going  to  save  the 
world.  They  won't  mind  being  smirched  to  save  the  race !" 

"Frederica,"  her  listener  said,  calmly,  "when  that  time 
comes,  may  God  have  mercy  on  the  race.  Your  grand 
mother  (I  speak  genetically)  thought  she  saved  the  race 
by  keeping  clean." 

"And  letting  men  be — "  she  paused  to  find  a  sufficiently 
vehement  word.  "It's  the  double  standard  that  has 
landed  us  where  we  are;  it  has  made  men  vile  and  kept 
women  weak.  We'll  go  to  smash  unless  we  have  one 
standard." 

"Which  one?"  he  asked;   "yours  or  ours?" 

"You  know  perfectly  well,"  she  said,  for  once  affronted. 

"I  only  asked  for  information.  There's  no  denying  that 
there  are  members  of  your  sex  who  rather  incline  to  our 
poor  way  of  doing  things.  Oh,  not  that  we  are  not  a  bad 
lot;  only,  to  be  our  equals,  it  isn't  necessary  to  sit  in  the 
gutter  with  us.  Continue  to  be  our  sup — " 

"Let's  cut  out  bromides,"  she  said.  "You  (I,  also, 
speak  generically)— " 

"Thanks  so  much!" 

"  — have  pulled  enough  of  your  '  superiors '  down  to  share 
your  gutter.  It's  time  now  for  men  to  get  out  of  the 
gutter  and  come  up  to  us." 

"You  breathe  such  rarefied  air,"  he  objected.  He  really 
wished  that  on  a  day  of  such  limpid  loveliness  she  would 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

stop  undressing  life.  He  liked  to  be  amused,  but  once  in 
a  while  Frederica  was  just  a  little  too  amusing,  and  he 
was  in  the  faintest  degree  bored,  as  one  is  bored  by  a  de 
lightful  and  obstreperous  child.  He  gazed  dreamily  into 
the  spring  haze,  watched  a  ripple  spread  over  the  lake, 
and  noted  a  leaning  willow  dip  its  flowing  fingers  into 
the  water. 

"Did  you  see  that  fish  jump?"  he  asked. 

Frederica  gave  a  disgusted  grunt.  "Men  are  all  alike. 
You  talk  common  sense  to  them  and  they  go  to  sleep !" 

"  My  dear  Freddy,"  he  confessed,  "  you  have  enunciated 
a  deep  truth.  The  average  poor  devil  of  a  male  creature, 
toiling  and  slaving  and  digging  into  common  sense  to  make 
a  living,  isn't  very  keen  on  having  it  crammed  down  his 
throat  on  his  afternoon  out.  Not  that  I  am  that  kind  of 
person.  I  find  your  'common  sense'  very  diverting." 

A  little  patch  of  red  burned  in  her  cheeks.  ' '  That's  what 
has  kept  women  slaves — 'diverting*  men!  I  believe  you 
prefer  fools,  every  one  of  you." 

"We  like  our  own  kind,"  he  teased  her. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  sudden  passion,  "I  am  in  earnest, 
and  you  won't  be  serious!  This  is  a  real  thing  to  me,  this 
emancipation  of  women.  It  means — a  new  world!" 

"Yet  this  world,"  he  began — the  world  before  them, 
with  its  blue  serenity  of  a  gentle  sky,  its  vitality  of  burst 
ing  buds  and  warm  mists  and  cool,  lapping  water;  the 
world  of  a  woman's  soul  and  body — was  not  this  enough 
for  any  one?  Why  struggle  for  change?  Why  try  to 
upset  the  existing  order?  And  Frederica,  speaking  of 
such  ugly  things,  was  so  very  upsetting!  As  she  spoke 

140 


"  DID     YOU     SEE     THAT     FISH     JUMP  ? "     HE     ASKED.      FREDERICA     GAVE     A 
DISGUSTED    GRUNT 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

she  looked  at  him  with  the  naked  innocence  which  marks 
the  mind  of  the  reformer — that  noble  and  ridiculous  mind 
which,  seeing  but  one  thing,  loses  so  completely  its  sense 
of  proportion.  The  facts  she  flung  at  him  he  would  have 
hidden  from  the  eyes  of  girls.  Yet  he  knew  that  they 
were  facts.  .  .  .  He  had  protested  that  women  should 
trust  the  chivalry  of  men,  and  she  had  burst  out :  "Thank 
you,  I  prefer  to  trust  the  ballot!  'Chivalry,'  and  women 
working  twelve  hours  a  day  in  laundries!  ' Chivalry,'  and 
women  cleaning  spittoons  in  beer-saloons!  'Chivalry,' 
and  prostitution!  No,  sir!  unless  his  personal  interests 
are  concerned,  man's  '  chivalry '  is  a  pretty  rotten  reed  for 
women  to  lean  on!" 

The  crude  words  in  which  she  swept  away  his  comfort 
able  evasions  made  him  cringe,  but  he  could  not  deny 
their  accuracy,  nor  avoid  the  deduction  that  one  of  the 
reasons  there  continued  to  be  "ugly"  things  in  the  world 
was  that  until  now  the  eyes  of  women  had  been  holden 
that  they  should  not  see  them.  Men  had  done  this.  Men 
had  created  a  code  which  made  it  a  point  of  honor  and 
decency  to  hide  the  truth  from  women;  to  shield  them, 
not  from  the  effect  of  facts,  but  from  the  knowledge  of 
facts! 

Frederica's  knowledge  was  dismaying  to  Arthur  Wes- 
ton,  both  from  tenderness  for  her  and  from  his  own 
esthetic  sensitiveness ;  it  was  all  so  unlovely ! 

"How  do  other  men  take  this  sort  of  talk?"  he  asked; 
"the  Childs  boys,  for  instance?" 

"Bobby  and  Payton?  I  would  as  soon  talk  to  Zip  as  to 
them!  They  are  like  their  father;  they  have  chubby 

141 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

minds.  Laura  is  the  only  intelligent  person  in  that 
family.  She  gave  in  to  Billy-boy  about  the  parade," 
Fred  said,  regretfully,  "but  she  did  go  with  me  last  week 
when  I  talked  suffrage  to  the  garment-workers.  I  tell  you 
what — it  took  sand  for  Laura  to  do  that !  Uncle  William 
was  hopping — not  at  her,  of  course,  but  at  wicked  Freddy; 
and  Bobby  and  Pay  ton  cursed  me  out  for  leading  Laura 
into  temptation." 

' '  How  about  Maitland  ?"  he  asked.  He  had  taken  Fred- 
erica's  hand  and  was  examining  her  seal  ring.  She  let  her 
fingers  lie  in  his  as  lightly  as  though  his  hand  had  been 
Zip's  head,  and  he  found  himself  wishing  that  she  were 
less  amiable. 

"Howard?" — her  eyes  brimmed  suddenly  with  sun 
shine;  "oh,  Howard  doesn't  belong  on  the  same  bench 
with  the  chubby  Childses !  He  thinks, — and  he  entirely 
agrees  with  me." 

"Which  proves  that  he  thinks?" 

She  saw  the  malice  of  his  question,  and  rather  sharply 
drew  her  hand  from  his. 

"When  is  he  coming  home?"  Weston  asked. 

"November,"  she  said,  shortly,  and  gave  a  flake  of 
lichen  a  vicious  jab  that  tossed  it  out  into  the  water. 

"How's  he  getting  along  with  his  shells?" 

"All  right,  I  guess.  I  don't  hear  from  him  very  often. 
He's  left  the  region  of  mails.  I've  sent  him  a  good  many 
pamphlets  and  an  abstract  of  a  paper  I'm  writing  for  the 
annual  meeting  of  the  league.  One  of  these  days  he  11 
stop  puddling  round  with  shells  and  do  something,  I  hope. 
I  won't  let  up  on  him  till  he  does." 

142 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Merely  being  a  fairly  decent  fellow  isn't  enough  for 
you?" 

"Not  nearly  enough!'1 

"Oh,  Fred,  how  young  you  are!"  he  sighed;  then 
pulled  Zip's  tail  and  was  snapped  at. 

Suddenly  he  looked  her  straight  in  the  face.  "Are  you 
engaged  to  him?"  he  demanded,  harshly. 

"Heavens,  no!"  she  said,  laughing. 

His  hands  tightened  around  his  knees;  he  opened  his 
lips,  then  closed  them  hard.  "I  almost  made  a  fool  of 
myself,"  he  told  himself,  afterward.  However,  his  pos 
sibilities  for  folly  were  not  visible  to  Frederica,  who  con 
tinued  to  lay  down  the  law  as  to  the  work  a  man  ought  to 
do  in  the  world.  "When  we  get  the  vote,"  she  said, 
"we'll  show  you  what  a  citizen's  responsibilities  are." 

"Thanks  so  much,"  he  murmured.  "You  are  going  to 
do  all  the  things  we  do,  I  suppose?" 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  joyfully;  "everything — and  a  lot 
you  don't  do  because  you  are  too  lazy!" 

"I  suppose  you  will  leave  us  the  right  to  propose?" 

"  I'll  share  it  with  you,"  she  said,  and  they  both  laughed. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Fred,"  he  said,  "I  must  come  back  to 
the  chestnut :  you  are  our  superiors,  and  we  like  you  to  be. 
I  suppose  that's  because  we  are  born  hunters  and  are  keen 
for  the  unattainable.  We  won't  bag  the  game  if  it  roosts 
on  our  fists." 

"Well,"  she  reassured  him,  springing  to  her  feet,  "I'm 
not  going  to  roost  on  your  fist;  don't  be  afraid!" 

"Try  me,"  he  said,  under  his  breath.  But  she  did  not 
hear  him. 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Come,  Zippy,  we  must  go  home,"  she  said,  and  ex 
tended  a  careless  hand  to  Arthur  Weston,  as  if  to  help 
him  rise.  He  pretended  not  to  see  it. 

("The  next  thing  will  be  a  wheeled  chair!"  he  told  him 
self,  hotly.) 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ON  the  first  of  June  Frederica  transferred  herself  and 
a  somewhat  reluctant  Flora  from  Payton  Street  to 
Lakeville. 

"Flora  thinks  her  beau  won't  go  out  there  to  see  her/' 
Miss  Carter  explained. 

"Nonsense!"  Fred  said.  "If  he  wants  to  see  her  he'll 
come,  and  if  he  doesn't  want  to  see  her  she'd  better  find 
it  out  now."  But  she  was  not  entirely  unsympathetic,  and 
told  Flora  there  would  be  a  piano  in  the  cottage  so  that 
the  music  lessons  could  be  continued — which  raised  the 
cloud  a  little. 

A  day  or  two  later  Mrs.  Holmes  called  at  No.  15  to  bid 
Mrs.  Payton  good-by  for  the  summer,  and  the  next  week 
the  Childses  dropped  in,  in  the  evening,  for  the  same  pur 
pose.  They  all  made  their  annual  remark:  "How  can 
you  stay  in  town  in  the  hot  weather?"  And  Mrs.  Payton 
made  her  annual  reply:  "I  hate  summer  resorts.  I'm 
much  more  comfortable  in  my  own  house."  Nobody 
asked  the  real  question,  "How  can  you  stay  here  with 
Morty?"  And  Mrs.  Payton  never  gave  the  real  expla 
nation:  "  My  life  is  perfectly  empty  except  for  Mortimore; 
that's  why  I  stay  with  him." 

When  they  had  all  left  town  Mrs.  Payton,  who  changed 

145 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

her  under-flannels  and  packed  up  her  winter  blankets  by 
the  calendar,  put  the  stuffed  furniture  into  linen  covers, 
and  told  Anne  to  keep  the  shutters  bowed  all  over  the 
house — except  in  the  ell;  the  sun  was  never  shut  out  of 
the  room  with  the  iron  bars  over  the  windows.  Then 
summer  sleepiness  took  possession  of  the  household.  No 
one  disturbed  the  quiet  except  when,  occasionally,  Arthur 
Weston,  bored  and  kindly,  dropped  in  to  ask  for  a  cup  of 
tea.  He  told  himself  once,  after  a  dull  hour  of  drinking 
very  hot  tea  and  listening  to  plaintive  details  of  Freddy's 
behavior,  that  he  was  going  to  leave  directions  in  his  will 
to  have  inscribed  upon  his  tombstone,  "He  seen  his  duty, 
and  he  done  it."  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  not 
wait  for  the  tombstone  to  suggest  that  same  duty  to 
Frederica.  .  .  . 

As  the  Payton  house  fell  into  somnolence,  Payton  Street 
woke  up.  The  air,  stagnant  between  sun-baked  brick 
walls,  was  a  medley  of  noises  that  sometimes  sank  to  a 
rumbling  diapason,  or  sometimes  stabbed  the  ear  in  single 
discords:  the  jangle  of  mule-bells,  the  bumping  of  the  car 
on  the  switch,  the  jolt  of  milk-wagons  over  the  cobble 
stones.  In  the  provision-store  all  day  long  a  parrot  vocif 
erated;  from  the  livery-stable  came  the  monotonous 
pounding  of  hoofs,  or,  when  Mr.  Baker  sent  out  a  hearse 
and  some  funeral  hacks,  the  screech  of  grating  wheels. 
Hand-organs  came  and -went.  Fruit-dealers  cried  their 
wares — "Strawberries!  Strawberries!  Strawb — "  Theai- 
lanthus-shaded  pavements  swarmed  with  shrill-voiced 
children;  they  summoned  one  another  to  pull  the  parrot's 
tail  or  to  look  at  the  hearse;  they  assailed  the  ice-carts, 

146 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

reveling  in  the  drip  from  the  tail-boards  and  sucking 
what  bits  of  ice  they  could  scrape  up.  Sometimes  they 
squabbled  raucously,  sometimes  wept;  sometimes,  hush 
ing  their  betraying  giggles,  crept  into  Mrs.  Payton's  front 
yard  and  climbed  up  on  the  iron  dog  "to  play  circus" — 
until  Mrs.  Payton,  always  on  the  watch,  discovered  them 
and  sent  Miss  Carter  down  to  drive  them  away. 

Except  for  skirmishes  with  the  marauding  children, 
Mrs.  Payton's  days  were  very  placid.  She  worked  out 
new  puzzles  and  dozed  through  stories  in  the  magazines. 
She  wrote  twice  a  week  dutiful  letters  to  her  mother, 
pausing  occasionally  to  think  of  something  to  say  or  to 
listen,  absently,  to  the  swish  of  the  watering-cart  along  the 
street;  she  liked  the  wet  smell  of  the  watered  cobble 
stones  mingling  with  the  heavy  odor  of  the  blossoming 
ailanthus.  There  never  seemed  to  be  anything  to  tell 
Mrs.  Holmes,  except  that  she  had  been  dreadfully  busy,  and 
that  the  "accommodating"  waitress  didn't  keep  her  sink 
clean,  and  that  the  barber's  children  were  very  trying. 
Every  fine  afternoon,  sitting  opposite  Miss  Carter  and 
Morty,  she  drove  out  to  the  park  and  home  again.  Once 
she  summoned  up  all  her  energy  and  went  to  Lakeville 
to  spend  a  day  with  Fred.  She  thought  that  if  she  didn't 
go,  Freddy  would  believe  she  preferred  to  stay  with  Morty. 
("Oh,  if  I  only  hadn't  told  her  I  loved  him  best!"  she  used 
to  reproach  herself.)  It  was  a  bitter  thing  to  Mrs.  Payton 
to  pass  through  Laketon  and  see  the  place  where  a  Payton 
girl  ought  to  be,  "instead  of  living  with  all  kinds  of  people 
in  Lakeville!"  When  Fred  met  her  at  the  station  and 
brought  her  to  the  ugly  little  cottage — its  garish  interior 

147 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

vivid,  now,  with  yellow  pennons — she  tried,  for  the  sake 
of  peace,  to  restrain  her  disapproval  of  everything  she 
saw,  but  she  couldn't  help  saying  she  wondered  how  Fred 
could  stand  the  solferino  lamp-shade. 

"Hideous,"  Frederica  said,  carelessly,  "so  why  look  at 
it?  I  never  look  at  our  Iron  Virgin." 

"There  is  some  difference  in  value,"  Mrs.  Payton  re 
proved  her. 

"No,  only  in  cost,"  her  daughter  said;  then  saw  the 
color  mount  into  her  mother's  face,  and  gritted  her  teeth. 
("I  needn't  have  said  that — but  it's  true!  Darn  it,  I  am 
like  him!")  After  that  she  tried  to  think  of  something 
pleasant  to  say,  but  what  was  there  to  talk  about  ? — only 
the  waitress,  and  the  heat,  and  the  barber's  dirty  chil 
dren.  Indeed,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  decide  which 
found  that  visit  to  the  bungalow  the  most  trying,  the 
mother  or  the  daughter.  Certainly  it  was  a  relief  to  both 
of  them  when  it  was  over. 

"Mother  came  out  to  the  camp  and  I  wasn't  a  bit  nice 
to  her,"  Fred  bemoaned  herself,  one  day,  to  Arthur  Wes- 
ton,  when  he  met  her  entering  No.  15  just  as  he  was  leaving 
it.  He  turned  back  and  followed  her  into  the  parlor. 

"And  nobody  can  be  so  un-nice  as  you,  when  you  put 
your  mind  on  it,"  he  said,  genially. 

She  laughed.  "You  never  talk  through  your  hat  to  me ; 
you're  straight.  That's  why  I  like  you." 

"Then  you'll  like  me  more,  for  I'm  going  to  be  very 
straight,"  he  warned  her.  He  looked  about  for  any  kind 
of  a  cool  seat,  but  subsided  into  a  linen-covered  feather 
bed  of  a  chair,  close  to  the  bust  of  Mr.  Andrew  Payton; 

148 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

his  eye-glasses  on  their  black  ribbon  dangling  in  a  thread 
of  sunshine,  sent  faint  lights  back  and  forth  on  the 
ceiling.  "Life  is  very  dull  for  your  mother,"  he  said, 
fanning  himself  with  his  hat;  "why  don't  you  come  in 
oftener?" 

Frederica,  on  the  piano-stool,  struck  a  careless  oc 
tave.  "Life  dull?  Why,  I  think  it's  wildly  exciting!  As 
for  coming  in,  I'm  too  busy." 

"Reforming  the  world?  You  might  begin  the  reforma 
tion  by  making  things  happier  here.  Happiness  is  a 
valuable  reformatory  agent.  You  could  cheer  Mrs.  Pay- 
ton  up,  but  you  prefer  'being  busy/  " 

Fred  colored.  He  had  spoken  to  her  once  before  in  this 
same  peremptory  way,  and  she  had  been  angry;  now  she 
was  embarrassed.  "I'm  on  my  job.  I've  started  a  suf 
frage  league — " 

"There  are  other  people  who  can  start  leagues.  There 
is  only  one  person  who  can  make  your  mother  happy." 

"Mr.  Weston,  the  relative  value  of  picture  puzzles  and 
the  emancipation  of  women — " 

That  made  him  really  indignant;  he  stopped  fanning 
himself  and  looked  at  her  with  hard  eyes.  "The  doing  of 
the  immediate  duty  by  each  individual  woman  will  eman 
cipate  the  sex  a  good  deal  quicker  than  talking!  You 
needn't  stop  your  suffrage  work  to  do  your  duty  as  a 
daughter.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  about  bearing  one 
another '  s  burdens  ? ' ' 

"Sounds  like  the  Bible,"  Fred  said. 

"It  is.    I  commend  the  book  as  a  course  in  sociology." 

"But,"  she  defended  herself,  "I  do  come  home  quite 

149 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

often.  I'm  going  to  be  here  to-night.  I'm  going  to  a 
dinner  dance  at  the  Country  Club,  and  I'm  coming  back 
here  to  stay  all  night." 

"Yes,  you  will  come  for  your  own  convenience,  not 
your  mother's  pleasure.  See  here,  Fred!  You  once  asked 
me  if  you  were  like  your  father," — involuntarily  she 
raised  her  hand,  as  if  to  fend  off  a  blow — "I  had  great 
respect  for  Mr.  Payton  in  many  ways,  but  he  had  the 
selfishness  of  power.  So  have  you.  Whew!"  he  ended, 
rising,  "I  believe  it's  a  hundred  in  the  shade!" 

Fred  was  silent. 

"I  am  coming  out  to  Lakeville  in  a  day  or  two.  Got 
my  new  car  yesterday,  and  I  am  burning  to  display  it." 

Still  she  was  silent.  A  watering-cart  lumbered  by  and 
some  children  squealed  in  a  sudden  cold  splash. 

"Until  now,"  he  said,  "I  have  believed  that  you  were  a 
good  sport." 

"And  now  you  think  I'm  not?" 

"You  don't  seem  to  know  what  the  word  Duty  means; 
— which  is  another  way  of  saying  that  you  don't  play  the 
game." 

"  If  the  game  is  to  make  things  pleasant  for  Mortimore> 
1  and  put  picture  puzzles  together,  I  don't  care  to  play  it," 
she  said,  cockily.  She  followed  him  to  the  front  door  and 
stood  there  as  he  went  [down  the  steps.  But  when  he 
reached  the  gate  she  darted  after  him  and  clapped  a  frank 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  "You're  a  dead  game  sport!  I 
don't  know  any  other  man  who'd  have  biffed  me  right  in 
the  face  like  that." 

"I  skinned  my  own  knuckles,"  he  admitted,  with  a 

150 


THE'  RISING   TIDE 

droll  gesture  of  rubbing  a  bruised  hand.  "  Still,  I  don't 
mind,  if  it  does  you  good." 

"Cheer  up!  Maybe  it  will,"  she  said,  and,  laughing, 
threw  a  kiss  to  him  and  vanished  into  the  house.  He 
laughed,  to  — then  frowned.  "She  wouldn't  have  kissed 
her  hand  to  Maitland.  I  don't  count,"  he  thought. 
As  he  walked  off,  hugging  the  shady  side  of  the  street, 
he  added,  "I  am  a  fool!" 

Frederica  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  becoming 
immediately  domestic,  but  as  she  went  up-stairs  to  dress 
she  happened  to  glance  down  the  little  corridor  in  the 
ell,  and  there,  outside  Morty's  door,  was  poor,  faithful 
Miss  Carter.  Her  one  night  off  a  week,  when  Mrs. 
Baker,  from  the  livery-stable,  took  her  place,  did  not 
suffice  to  lessen  very  much  the  burden  of  Morty's  per 
petual  society,  and  that  and  the  heat  had  obviously  worn 
upon  her. 

"Miss  Carter,  why  don't  you  go  to  the  theater?"  Fred- 
erica  called  to  her,  impulsively.  "  I'll  stay  with  Morty  to 
night.  I  suppose  we  can't  get  Mrs.  Baker  on  such  short 
notice?" 

"No,  she  can't  come  except  on  her  regular  night;  and 
you  are  going  to  a  dance,  Miss  Freddy,"  the  tired  woman 
objected,  rather  faintly. 

"Nonsense!  I  don't  care  about  dancing.  Go  ahead. 
Get  a  ticket  for  'Heels  and  Toes.'  It's  corking." 

Her  mother  followed  her  into  her  room  to  thank  her. 
"That's  very  sweet  of  you,  Freddy.  Not  that  Morty 
needs  anybody  when  he  once  gets  to  sleep;  so  far  as  that 
goes,  I  don't  need  to  go  to  the  expense  of  having  Mrs. 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Baker  here  on  Miss  Carter's  evenings  out;  but  I  like  to 
feel  there's  some  one  near,  you  know." 

"It's  less  lonely  for  you,"  Fred  said,  with  unwonted  in 
sight. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Payton  agreed,  wistfully.  "She's  some 
body  to  talk  to.  You  needn't  sit  in  Morty's  room;  out 
side  the  door  will  do.  And  I'll  sit  with  you." 

"I  want  to  read,  so  I'll  sit  inside  by  the  light." 

"Well,  don't  be  nervous.    He  won't  stir." 

"I'm  not  in  the  least  nervous,"  Fred  said;  "I'm  only — 
disgusted." 

Mrs.  Payton's  chin  quivered.  "You  ought  not  to  speak 
so  about  your  brother.  Remember,  even  if  he  isn't — 
bright,  he's  a  man,  and  the  head  of  the  family."  Fred 
looked  at  her  with  genuine  curiosity;  how  could  she  say 
a  thing  like  that !  ' '  Besides, ' '  Mrs.  Payton  added, ' '  Doctor 
Davis  always  said  his  intellect  was  there ;  it  isn't  his  fault 
that  it  is  veiled." 

"No,  it  isn't  his  fault,"  Frederica  said,  significantly. 
She  took  her  book  into  the  bare  room,  which  could  not  be 
carpeted  or  curtained  because  of  the  poor,  destroying 
hands  that  sometimes  had  to  be  tied  for  fear  they  would 
claw  and  snatch,  even  at  Miss  Carter's  heavy  chair  or  at 
the  table,  screwed  down  to  the  floor.  There  was  a  drop- 
light  over  the  table,  and  Frederica  turned  it  on  and 
opened  her  book ;  but  she  did  not  read  much ;  the  snoring 
breath  from  the  bed  disturbed  her.  Instead,  she  fell  to 
thinking  about  Howard  Maitland — sometimes  she  was  im 
patient  with  herself  for  thinking  of  him  so  constantly! 
But  the  warm  satisfaction  that  took  possession  of  her 

152 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

whenever  he  came  into  her  mind,  was  an  irresistible 
temptation.  She  did  not  often  speculate  upon  his  feeling 
for  her.  "He's  fond  of  me,"  she  told  herself,  once  in  a 
while,  contentedly.  That  some  time  he  would  tell  her  he 
was  fond  of  her  was  a  matter  of  course.  Just  now,  she 
fell  to  calculating  how  soon  her  last  letter  would  reach 
him.  One  from  him,  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  some 
suffrage  literature,  had  come  that  morning.  "  I  don't  be 
lieve  one  woman  in  fifty  has  your  brains,"  he  had  written. 
Fred  smiled;  when  he  came  home  in  November  she  would 
show  him  those  "brains"!  Apparently,  Mr.  Arthur  Wes- 
ton  did  not  take  much  stock  in  them — "He  prefers  the 
domestic  virtues,"  she  thought,  with  a  flash  of  amuse 
ment.  "I  wonder  if  I'm  domestic  enough  to  suit  him, 
to-night?  I  suppose  he  would  think  it  was  better  to  sit 
with  an  idiot  than  to  try  to  move  the  world  along!"  But 
the  next  minute  she  was  contrite.  "He  can't  help  being 
old.  I  suppose  this  is  the  sort  of  thing  his  generation 
calls  'Duty'!" 

She  might  have  reflected  further  upon  the  foolishness  of 
the  past  generation,  if  just  then  Mrs.  Payton  had  not  come 
stealthily  along  the  hall.  She  stood  in  the  doorway, 
raising  a  cautioning  finger. 

"Oh,  you  can't  wake  him,"  Frederica  said,  in  her  nat 
ural  voice.  But  Mrs.  Payton  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

"Freddy,  isn't  your  cottage  damp — so  near  the  lake? 
There's  no  surer  way  to  take  cold  than — " 

"Not  a  bit  damp!" 

"Does  Flora  make  good  coffee  for  you?" 

"Bully." 

iS3 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I  hope  she's  more  contented.  Miss  Carter  says  the 
whole  trouble  with  Flora  is  she  wants  to  get  married,  but 
she  makes  herself  so  cheap  the  men  won't  look  at  her." 

Fred  frowned.  That  word  " cheap"  always  irritated 
her. 

"Miss  Carter  is  a  good  woman,"  Mrs.  Payton  went  on, 
"but  she's  a  little  coarse  once  in  a  while." 

"I  suppose  Flora  wants  a  home  of  her  own,"  Fred  said, 
yawning;  "when  women  have  no  brains  they  have  to 
marry  for  homes." 

"All  women  want  homes,  whether  they  have  brains  or 
not,"  said  Mrs.  Payton;  "where  would  they  have  their 
babies  if  they  didn't  have  homes?  Freddy,  it  must  be 
very  lonely  for  you  in  Lakeville.  Your  Uncle  William  is 
really  shocked  about  it.  He  says  there  are  no  people  of 
our  class  there." 

"Billy-boy  is  correct.  I  had  two  people  of  the  better 
class  in  to  supper  last  night — workers.  Mother,  one  of  the 
things  the  women's  vote  is  going  to  do,  besides  giving  the 
Floras  of  the  world  a  chance  to  be  independent  of  men,  is 
to  obliterate  class  lines." 

"Then  it  will  have  to  obliterate  life,"  Mrs.  Payton 
whispered.  "Women  need  men  to  take  care  of  them. 
And  as  for  class,  God  makes  a  difference  in  people.  You 
can't  vote  God  down." 

It  was  so  unusual  for  Mrs.  Payton  to  set  her  opinion 
against  her  daughter's  that  Frederica  laughed,  in  spite  of 
herself.  Mrs.  Payton  laughed  a  little,  too;  then  they 
both  looked  at  the  bed,  but  the  heavy  breathing  went 
steadily  on. 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Your  grandmother  thinks,"  Mrs.  Pay  ton  said,  im 
pulsively,  "that  you  would  have  more  beaux  if  we  lived 
up  on  the  Hill." 

"  That's  like  her." 

"Freddy  dear,  you  know  I  have  to  stay  here  on  account 
of  Morty?  Not  that  I'd  do  more  for  him  than  for  you — 
I  love  you  both  just  the  same!  But  I  couldn't  take  him 
up  on  the  Hill." 

"'Course  you  couldn't!  Mother,  for  the  Lord's  sake, 
don't  listen  to  Grandmother!  She's  one  of  the  type  that 
keeps  the  world  back." 

"She  doesn't  like  change,  that's  all,"  Mrs.  Pay  ton  ex 
plained.  She  came  in  and  sat  down  at  the  table. 

"Yes;  she  doesn't  like  change,"  Fred  agreed.  "If 
Nature  had  listened  to  Grandmother  we'd  all  be  proto 
plasm  still.  Probably  the  grandmother  of  the  first  worm 
that  sprouted  legs,  kicked.  No,  she  couldn't  kick,"  Fred 
said,  chuckling,  "because  she  didn't  have  the  legs  she 
despised;  she  just  said,  'It  isn't  done!' ' 

Mrs.  Payton  looked  perfectly  blank. 

"I'm  going  to  use  that  idea  in  my  paper,"  Fred  said, 
with  satisfaction. 

"Do  you  think  Howard  Maitland  likes  you  to  write 
papers,  dear?" 

"Likes  me  to?  Why  shouldn't  he?  It  wouldn't  make 
a  bit  of  difference  to  me  whether  he  did  or  not,  but  as 
he  has  ordinary  garden  sense,  I  am  sure  he  doesn't  dis 
like  it." 

"Men,"  Mrs.  Payton  said,  timidly,  "don't  like  clever 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"  Clever  men  do." 

"Your  dear  father  was  clever — but  he  married  me." 

The  simplicity  of  that  was  touching,  even  to  Frederica. 

"You  were  a  thousand  times  too  good  for  him!" 

Mrs.  Payton  was  pleased,  but  she  made  the  proper  pro 
test  :  ' '  Oh,  my  dear!  I  had  a  letter  from  your  grandmother 
yesterday;  she  thinks  it's  shocking — your  living  in  Lake- 
ville  alone." 

"Go  on!"  Frederica  said,  contemptuously. 

"Hush-sh!"  Mrs.  Payton  cautioned  her. 

Fred  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "You  can't  wake — That. 
Talk  about  being  shocked, — I  suppose  it  never  occurred  to 
Uncle  William  or  Grandmother  that  their  ideas  of  what  is 
and  isn't  shocking,  produced  That?" 

Mrs.  Payton  shrunk  away  as  if  her  daughter  had  struck 
her;  she  murmured,  chokingly,  some  wounded  remon 
strance,  then  tiptoed  through  the  shadowy  hall  into  the 
sitting-room.  At  the  table,  spread  with  an  unfinished 
game  of  Canfield,  she  sat  down,  drearily.  This  was  what 
always  happened;  they  simply  could  not  get  along  to 
gether  !  Whenever  she  held  out  empty  hands,  begging  for 
love,  they  were  slapped.  She  began  to  shuffle  the  cards, 
wondering  painfully  if  it  was  because  Freddy  was  still 
brooding  over  that  thing  she  said  about  loving  Mortimore 
best.  "I'm  afraid  she's  jealous,"  Mrs.  Payton  sighed. 

Frederica,  alone,  reflected  upon  her  mother's  assertion 
that  men  disliked  clever  women.  It  annoyed  her,  not  be 
cause  there  was  any  truth  in  it,  but  because  it  reminded 
her  of  Woman's  cowardly  acquiescence  in  Man's  esti 
mate  of  her  intelligence.  Of  course  it  was  all  right  about 

156 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Howard;  Howard  had  sense!  But  men  generally — did 
they  really  dislike  clever  women?  If  so,  it  merely  meant 
that  they  were  afraid  of  Truth.  They  wanted  women  to 
be  timid,  and  pretty,  and  useless:  to  be  slaves  and  play 
things! — so  they  fooled  them  into  the  belief  that  silliness 
was  attractive,  and  that  slavery  and  virtue  were  the  same 
thing.  It  was  men  who  had  taught  women  to  believe  that 
awful  thing  her  mother  had  said  about  Morty's  being  "the 
head  of  the  family" ;  had  taught  them  to  believe  that  a  man 
— not  because  he  was  good,  or  wise,  or  strong,  but  because 
he  was  a  man — was  the  one  to  rule ! 

"No  wonder  we  are  slaves;  we've  swallowed  that  lie 
since  Adam.  Well,  there'll  be  none  of  it  in  mine!"  she 
said.  What  was  going  to  be  in  "hers"?  Business,  to  be 
gin  with.  She  was  going  to  make  a  success  of  her  business. 
Her  books  had  shown  a  better  month — they  should  show 
a  still  better  month,  if  she  wore  her  shoes  out  walking 
about  town  to  please  clients!  Yes,  Success!  It  was  not  a 
personal  ambition:  there  was  no  self-seeking  in  Fred  Pay- 
ton;  she  wanted  to  succeed  because  her  success  would 
show  what  women  could  do;  show  that  a  woman  was  as 
able  as  a  man — as  wise,  as  good  ("better!  better!"  she 
told  herself) ;  show  that  a  woman  could  rule,  could  achieve, 
could  be  "the  head  of  the  family"!  The  thing  that  was 
to  be  "in  hers"  was  work  to  free  women  from  the  shackles 
of  the  old  ideals,  from  content  in  sex  slavery,  with  all  its 
ignorances  and  futilities,  its  slackness  of  purpose  and 
shameful  timidities,  that  a  man-made  world  had  called 
"duties."  And  Howard,  who  was  not  "afraid  of  clever 
women,"  would  help  her!  A  passion  of  consecration  to 

157 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

the  woman's  cause  rose  in  her  heart  like  a  wave.  For  the 
next  hour  she  walked  up  and  down  the  dimly  lighted 
room,  planning  what  she  was  going  to  do  for  women. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  when  Miss  Carter's  ponderous  step 
told  her  she  was  free.  She  laughed  good-naturedly  at  the 
thanks  the  refreshed  woman  was  eager  to  give,  but  just 
as  she  was  leaving  the  room  Miss  Carter's  last  word 
caught  her  ear: 

"I've  had  such  a  pleasant  time,  Miss  Freddy.  I'll  do 
my  work  better  for  it." 

'Do  her  work  better.'  ...  In  her  eagerness  to  do  her 
own  work  Fred  had  never  thought  very  much  of  other 
people's ;  but  what  a  different  world  it  would  be  if  every 
body  did  their  work  better!  "If  every  woman  did  her 
best  on  her  job,  even  if  it  were  only  taking  care  of  Morti- 
mores,  it  would  help  things  along,"  she  told  herself.  "  It's 
slackness  on  the  job  that  holds  the  world  back."  Looked 
at  from  that  angle,  then — the  bettering  of  Miss  Carter's 
work — perhaps  it  did  count  to  make  things  pleasant  at 
Payton  Street?  The  idea  put  a  new  light  on  Mr.  Weston's 
call-down.  Bearing  other  people's  burdens  had  seemed 
not  in  the  least  worth  while;  but  if  cheering  people  up 
helped  them  to  do  their  work — work  which,  after  all,  had 
to  be  done,  somehow! — why,  then  there  was  sense  in  it. 
She  saw  no  sense  in  "cheering"  her  mother,  for  her 
mother  did  nothing  at  all.  Frederica  had  no  dutiful  illu 
sions;  Mrs.  Payton  was  an  absolutely  useless  human 
being — and  her  daughter  was  perfectly  aware  of  it.  "She 
has  no  burden  to  bear,"  Fred  thought,  carelessly.  "But 
to  give  old  fat  Carter  a  hand  by  just  amusing  her, — that 

158 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

helps  the  doing  of  work;   and  that  counts!    I'll  come  in 
oftener,"  she  decided. 

So,  in  her  own  fashion,  by  a  back  door,  so  to  speak, 
Frederica  Pay  ton  entered  into  the  old  idea  of  Duty. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

was  eager  to  impart  to  her  man  of  business  her 
A  wonderful  discovery  that  visits  to  Payton  Street 
should  be  made,  not  because  of  "duty,"  but  because  they 
were  of  value  to  the  world. 

"Your  premises  were  wrong,  but  your  deductions  were 
correct,"  she  instructed  him,  and  he  roared  with  laughter. 

"Fred,  you'll  discover  the  Ten  Commandments  next. 
It's  the  same  old  result,  only  you  call  it  by  a  different 
name.  But  go  ahead;  run  the  universe!  I  don't  care 
what  kind  of  oil  you  use,  so  long  as  the  gears  don't  stick." 

Mr.  Weston's  metaphors  confessed  the  fact  that  he  had 
achieved  a  motor  so  that  he  might  go  thirty  miles  for  a 
cup  of  tea.  He  used  to  come  out  to  the  camp  two  or  three 
times  a  week,  and,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  magenta 
lamp-shade,  and  the  frieze  of  Japanese  fans,  and  the 
yellow  "Votes  for  Women"  flags,  listen  dreamily  to  Fred's 
theories  for  the  running  of  the  universe,  and  also  to  that 
paper  on  which  she  was  so  hard  at  work.  She  wanted  his 
criticism,  she  said,  but,  of  course,  what  she  really  wanted 
was  his  praise.  She  got  it — meagerly,  and  with  so  many 
qualifications  that,  when  all  was  said,  it  hardly  seemed 
like  praise  at  all.  That  he  was  doing  his  best  to  make  her 
carry  her  little  torch  so  that  it  might  shed  its  glimmer  of 

1 60 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

light,  yet  not  set  things  on  fire,  never  occurred  to  her. 
If  it  had,  she  would  have  resented  it  hotly.  As  it  was,  his 
temperance  never  checked  her  vehemence,  but  neither  did 
it  irritate  her.  Her  arrogant  and  shallow  certainties,  on 
the  contrary,  did  occasionally  irritate  him,  and,  of  course, 
they  never  brought  him  any  conviction;  but  they  did 
oblige  him  to  be  intellectually  candid  with  himself,  and 
his  candor  brought  him  to  the  point  of  telling  her  that  he 
thought  her  generation  better  than  his,  because  it  was  not 
afraid  of  Truth.  "So,  perhaps  you  women  may  save  civ 
ilization,"  he  said. 

"Hooray!"  said  Fred. 

"Hold  on,"  he  told  her,  dryly;  "cheers  are  premature. 
What  I  mean  is  that  feminism,  with  its  hideously  bad 
taste  and  its  demand  for  Truth,  is  here,  whether  we  like  it 
or  not !  It  may  make  the  world  over,  or  it  may  send  us 
all  on  the  rocks." 

"Nonsense!" 

"The  hope  in  it  is  your  brand-new  sense  of  social  re 
sponsibility.  The  menace  is  your  conceited  individual 
ism." 

"Of  course  you  are  not  conceited  yourself,"  she  said, 
sweetly. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  interrupt  me!  I  concede  that 
your  sense  of  responsibility  needs  the  tool  of  the  ballot, 
just  as  a  farmer  needs  a  spade  when  he  wants  to  raise  a 
crop  of  potatoes.  That  is  why  I  am  compelled  to  call 
myself  a  suffragist." 

"Hooray!"  she  said  again. 

He  looked  at  her  drolly.  "It's  queer  about  you— not 

161 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

you,  but  your  sex;  you  are  mentally,  but  not  emotionally, 
interesting.  You  are  not  nearly  as  charming  as  the  ladies 
of  my  youth;  you  have  no  sense  of  proportion,  and  you 
jolt  the  life  out  of  a  man,  by  trying  to  jump  the  track  the 
minute  you  get  tired  of  the  scenery.  Also  you  are  occa 
sionally  boring.  But  you  can't  help  that;  you  are  re 
formers." 

"Are  reformers  bores?"  she  said. 

"Always!"  he  declared. 

"Why?" 

"Because,"  he  said,  dryly,  "they  never  suffer  from  any 
impediment  in  their  speech." 

Yet  he  was  not  so  much  bored  that  he  stayed  away  from 
Lakeville.  The  place  itself  seemed  to  him  entirely  funny. 
Its  very  respectable  population  was  made  up  of  hard 
working,  good-naturedly  vulgar  folk,  whose  taste  was 
painful  or  amusing,  as  you  might  happen  to  look  at  it. 
Once  Fred  made  him  stay  to  supper,  and  afterward  go  to 
a  party  with  her  and  Laura — whose  presence  had  been 
secured  by  judicious  pressure  upon  Billy-boy.  This  es 
pecial  festivity  was  called  a  "can-can"  because  the  guests* 
idea  of  humor  consisted  in  wearing  a  string  of  empty  tin 
cans  over  their  shoulders,  with  a  resultant  noise  when 
they  danced  which  gave,  it  seemed,  a  peculiar  joy.  Fred- 
erica's  man  of  business,  sitting  on  a  bench  with  several 
gentlemen  who  mopped  themselves  breathlessly  after  their 
exertions  and  were  obviously  comfortable  in  their  shirt 
sleeves,  laughed  until,  he  said,  his  sides  ached. 

"You  like  it,  Fred?"  he  asked,  incredulously — she  and 
Laura  had  taken  him  home  with  them  to  give  him  some- 

162 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

thing  cool  to  drink  before  he  started  on  his  midnight  spin 
into  town. 

"Love  it!"  she  said. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it  seems  to  be  a  case  of  'give  me 
heaven  for  climate,  but  hell  for  company!'  It  would  bore 
me  to  death." 

They  were  on  the  little  front  porch  of  Sunrise  Cottage — 
Laura  lounging  on  the  lowest  step,  looking  up  at  the 
stars,  and  Arthur  Weston  sitting  on  the  railing,  sipping 
ginger-ale.  Frederica,  standing  up,  began  to  expatiate 
on  the  woman's  club  she  had  organized.  After  the  first 
meeting  she  had  turned  it  into  a  suffrage  league,  under 
the  admiring  eyes  of  ladies  who  whispered  to  each  other 
that  she  was  the  Miss  Payton — "you  know?  Society  girl. 
Why,  my  husband  says  the  Paytons  could  buy  up  every 
house  in  Lakeville  and  not  know  they'd  put  their  hands 
in  their  pockets!"  Fred  had  constant  afternoon  teas  for 
these  ladies — which  would  have  been  pleasanter  if  Flora, 
when  waiting  upon  them,  had  been  less  haughty. 

"  She  calls  all  our  neighbors '  common  people,'  "  Fred  said. 

Laura  laughed:  "Wait  till  we  get  the  vote  and  we'll 
have  equality,  won't  we,  Fred?" 

"You  bet  we  will!" 

"You  won't,"  Weston  assured  them,  "because  there 
ain't  no  such  thing.  My  dear  infants,  the  Lord  made  us 
different,  and  no  vote  can  change  His  arrangements." 

"That's  what  Mother  said;  I  was  quite  astonished  to 
have  Mother  pull  off  an  opinion  on  me,"  Fred  said. 

"Your  mother  has  a  great  many  opinions,  and  mighty 
sensible  ones,  too." 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

She  gave  him  a  surprised  look,  like  a  child  catching  an 
older  person  in  a  foolish  statement.  "Oh,  well,"  she  said, 
"of  course,  it's  hard  for  people  of  your  generation  to  keep 
up  with  the  procession." 

If  he  flinched,  nobody  saw  it.  "You  being  the  'pro 
cession,'  I  suppose?"  he  said,  raising  an  amiable  eye 
brow — but  he  did  not  feel  amiable.  Then  he  looked  at 
his  watch  and  said  he  must  start. 

"Oh,  don't  go!"  Fred  entreated. 

"You  two  girls  ought  to  be  in  bed,"  he  said.  They 
went  with  him  and  watched  him  crank  his  machine;  as 
he  threw  in  the  clutch,  he  called  back,  a  little  anxiously, 
"Make  her  loaf,  Laura!  She's  tired." 

Indoors,  while  they  were  locking  up,  Laura  giggled. 
"He's  daft  about  you,  Freddy!" 

"  Mr.  Weston?  My  dear,  you're  mad!  He  looks  on  me 
as  a  granddaughter."  . 

"Those  aunts  or  cousins,  or  whatever  they  are,  of  his," 
Laura  said,  sleepily,  "are  at  the  hotel,  and  I  went  with 
Mother  to  call  on  them.  The  old  one,  who  looks  like  an 
eagle,  is  perfectly  sweet;  but  the  pouter-pigeon  one  said 
that  she  did  not  think  the  young  woman  of  to-day,  who 
went  into  business,  'was  calculated  to  make  any  man 
happy.'  'Course,  I  knew  she  was  afraid  you  would  catch 
'  dear  Arthur ' !  But  really—' ' 

"Come  on,"  Fred  interrupted,  starting  up-stairs. 

Laura  stumbled  along  behind  her.  "Really,  I  think 
he  is  gone  on  you." 

"Goose!"  The  idea  was  too  absurd  to  discuss;  in 
stead,  when  she  was  combing  her  hair  Fred  called  through 

164 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

the  partition  that  separated  the  tiny  bedrooms  and  said 
she  wanted  to  tell  Laura  something. 

"Come  in!"  Laura  called  back;  and  Frederica,  comb 
in  hand,  came  in,  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  At  first 
she  talked  about  Flora,  who  didn't  like  to  come  out  to 
the  camp,  because  it  took  her  away  from  her  beau.  "The 
McKnight  chauffeur  is  very  attentive,"  Fred  said;  "for 
tunately  for  me,  Jack's  going  off  with  the  car  for  all  of 
August,  or  I'm  afraid  she'd  leave  me,  so  as  to  get  back  to 
town.  Isn't  it  funny  how  crazy  women  in  the  lower 
classes  are  to  get  married?" 

Laura  nodded,  sleepily. 

"Want  me  to  read  you  Howard's  last  letter?"  Fred 
said,  and  took  it  out  of  the  pocket  of  her  kimono. 

Laura,  curled  up  on  the  bed,  listened.  "He's  right," 
she  said,  when  Frederica,  with  due  carelessness,  read 
Howard's  panegyrics  on  her  brains;  "you  are  terribly 
clever,  Freddy." 

"Go  off!"  Fred  said.  "Laura,  he's  awfully  down  on 
Jack  McKnight.  You  wouldn't  look  at  him,  would  you?" 

"At  Jack?  The  idea!  If  there  wasn't  another  man  in 
the  world,  I  wouldn't  look  at  Jack." 

"I  want  you  to  do  something,"  Fred  said. 

"All  right.    What?" 

"It  will  take  nerve." 

Laura  opened  her  eyes  quickly.  "If  it's  another  pa 
rade—" 

"No!  No!  Nothing  like  that.  Parades  are  only  to 
show  the  strength  of  the  attacking  army.  I  want  you 
to  attack!" 

165 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Laura  sighed.  "But  Father  and  Mother  are  so  op 
posed — " 

"This  is  something  personal  I  want  you  to  do." 

Laura  was  obviously  relieved. 

"It's  about  Jack  McKnight.  When  he  proposes  to 
you — " 

"He  won't." 

"Don't  be  silly!  He  will  if  you  let  him.  And  I  want 
you  to  let  him.  Then,  when  you  turn  him  down,  tell  him 
why" 

"Why?  He'll  know  why!  Because  I'm  not  in  love 
with  him." 

"I  want  you  to  tell  him  the  reason  you're  not  in  love 
with  him." 

Laura,  flushing  to  her  temples,  sat  up  in  bed.  "It's 
none  of  his  business!  Or, — or  anybody's!" 

"  It  is  his  business — to  know  that  a  decent  woman  won't 
look  at  a  fast  man!" 

"Oh,"  Laura  said,  tumbling  back  on  her  pillow,  "I 
didn't  know  you  meant  that.  I  thought  you  meant  .  .  . 
something  else." 

"That's  what  I'm  up  to,"  Frederica  said.  "I'm  going 
to  get  all  the  girls  I  know  to  promise,  not  only  that  they 
won't  play  with  dissipated  fellows,  but  that  they'll  tell  'em 
straight  out  why  they  won't!" 

Laura  was  silent. 

"Truth!"  Fred  said,  flinging  up  her  head,  her  hair  fall 
ing  back  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  eyes  bold  and  inno 
cent.  "Truth  is  what  we  want!  If  we  can  get  this  bill 
through  the  Legislature — 'no  marriage  without  a  clean 

166 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

bill  of  health' — we'll  accomplish  a  lot  for  the  sake  of 
Truth.  I  wish  you'd  signed  the  petition,  Laura.  You 
believe  in  it?" 

"Of  course  I  believe  in  it.  But  imagine  trying  to 
make  Mama  understand  it ! — and  Father  would  have  had 
a  fit." 

' 'That's  the  trouble  with  women!"  Fred  said,  passion 
ately.  "We've  been  too  much  afraid  of  men  having 
fits.  Let  'em  have  fits!  It  will  be  good  for  them. 
We've  let  them  demand  that  we  should  be  straight, 
and  we've  never  had  the  sand  to  demand  that  they 
should  be  straight,  too.  But  we're  going  to  do  it  now. 
We  are  going  to  demand  Truth!  Oh,"  she  said,  tears 
suddenly  standing  in  her  eyes,  "just  plain  truth,  be 
tween  men  and  women,  nothing  more  than  that, — would 
make  the  world  over!" 

Laura  sighed  and  shook  her  head.  "As  for  playing 
only  with  the  straight  ones,  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
know?  It  doesn't  seem  fair  not  to  dance  with  a  man 
just  because  some  other  girl  tells  you  she's  heard  some 
thing — you'd  always  hear  it  from  a  girl." 

"General  reputation,"  Fred  began;  but  still  Laura 
hesitated. 

"Well,  then,  when  we  do  know  it  of  ourselves,  let's 
hold  together  and  turn  'em  down.  Everybody  knows 
Jack  drinks.  I've  seen  him  when  he  was  pretty  well 
loaded,"  Fred  said,  her  lip  drooping  with  disgust.  "He's 
crazy  about  you,  Laura;  give  him  a  leg  up  by  telling  him 
why  you  wouldn't  look  at  him!" 

"Oh,  Freddy,  really—" 

167 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"This  is  what  I'm  going  to  work  for,"  Frederica  said, 
"to  teach  women  to  teach  men!  It's  our  job,  because 
women  are  more  intelligent  than  men." 

"I  don't  think  Mother  is  more  intelligent  than  Father," 
Laura  demurred. 

Fred  swallowed  her  opinion  of  the  collective  Childses' 
intelligence;  "I've  thought  it  all  out,"  she  said;  "I'm 
going  to  give  my  life  up  to  urging  women  to  set  the  pace! 
And  we've  both  of  us  got  to  marry  men  who  will  join  our 
crusade." 

"  They  won't,"  Laura  prophesied;  then  added,  with  sud 
den,  frowning  decision:  "anyhow,  so  far  as  I'm  concerned, 
it  doesn't  matter.  I'm  not  going  to  marry  anybody." 

Fred  gave  her  a  quick  look.    "Why?" 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to." 

"Of  course,  marriage  generally  hampers  a  woman," 
Frederica  conceded.  "Perhaps  because  most  of  us  are 
tied  down  to  the  old  idea  that  it's  got  to  be  permanent, 
— which  might  be  a  dreadful  bore!  I  suppose  that's  a 
hold-over  from  the  time  that  we  were  chattels,  and  men 
taught  us  to  feel  that  marriage  was  permanent — for  us! 
They  didn't  bother  much  with  permanence  for  themselves ! 
But  I  admit  that  marriage — as  men  have  made  it,  en 
tirely  for  their  own  comfort  and  convenience,  with  its 
drudgery  of  looking  after  children — is  stunting  to  women. 
Queer,  though,  how  they  don't  mind  it!  Look  at  the 
girls  we  know — Rose  Marks  and  Mary  Morton,  and  the 
rest  of  our  class  who  are  married — they  haven't  a  thought 
above  their  babies  and  their  owners — they  call  'em  hus 
bands'!  Did  you  know  Rose  has  resigned  from  the 

168 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

league?  She  says  she  hasn't  time  to  attend  the  meetings; 
but  I  know  better.  It's  because  that  perfectly  piffling 
Marks  man  (how  could  she  marry  him? — he  has  no  nose, 
to  speak  of,  and  such  a  silly  chin!)  doesn't  approve  of  us. 
I  suppose  you  think  it's  better  for  a  woman  not  to  marry 
if  she  really  wants  to  accomplish  anything?" 

"Well,  no;  not  just  that.  Men  marry,  and  yet  they  ac 
complish  things,"  Laura  said. 

Frederica  frowned.  The  suggestion  of  a  fundamental 
difference  in  men  and  women  annoyed  her.  "Of  course,  it 
doesn't  follow  that  a  woman  stands  still  when  she  marries. 
If  she  and  the  man  are  in  absolute  sympathy,  intellectu 
ally,  she  needn't  vegetate.  For  my  part,  I  expect  to 
marry, — I  want  children.  But  I  shall  go  on  with  my 
work.  I  consider  my  work  of  more  importance  than  put 
ting  babies  to  sleep!" 

"Everybody  can't  afford  to  have  somebody  put  their 
babies  to  sleep  for  them,"  Laura  objected. 

"Fortunately  I  can!  I  shall  have  a  trained  nurse. 
When  a  child  is  well,  a  trained  nurse  is  every  bit  as  good 
as  a  mother.  And  when  it  is  ill,  she's  better." 

"Suppose  your  husband  doesn't  think  so?" 

"Then  he  won't  be  my  husband!  But  I  sha'n't  run  any 
such  risk!  I  shall  marry  a  man  who  absolutely  agrees 
with  me  in  everything." 

"Maybe  he'd  like  you  to  agree  with  him." 

"  I  will,  after  I've  pulled  him  up  to  my  level,"  Fred  said, 
grinning. 

"I  suppose  Mr.  Howard  Ferguson  Maitland  doesn't 
need  any  pulling  up?"  her  cousin  said,  softly. 
12  169 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Fred's  face  burned  red.  "My  dear,  he  is  not  the  only 
pebble  on  the  beach!" 

"He  gets  home  in  November,"  Laura  said.  "Freddy, 
it's  nearly  one,  and  I'm  perfectly  dead  with  sleep!" 

Frederica  laughed  and  got  up;  then  hesitated.  There 
was  a  little  droop  in  Laura's  face  that  she  didn't  like. 
"Lolly,"  she  said,  "you're  bothered.  Is  it-— Jack?" 

"Darn  Jack!"    Laura  said.     "I  loathe  him." 

"Good  girl!"  Fred  said,  with  a  relieved  look.  "You 
scared  the  stuffing  out  of  me  for  a  minute!" 

"You  needn't  be  worried,"  Laura  told  her,  dryly.  "Jack 
has  not  played  with  my  young  affections.  Oh,  no;  I'm 
cut  out  for  an  old  maid!  I'm  not  clever  like  you." 

Frederica,  in  genuine  relief  from  that  moment  of  anxi 
ety,  was  betrayed  into  reassuring  truth-telling:  "Mother 
says  men  don't  like  clever  women." 

"If  Aunt  Bessie  could  hear  H.  M.  talk  about  you  she'd 
change  her  mind." 

Fred  threw  an  impulsive  arm  about  her  and  kissed  her. 
"Oh,  Laura!"  she  said.  Laura  laughed,  and  kissed  her 
back  again,  and  said  if  she  didn't  get  out  she'd  fall  asleep 
in  her  arms. 

But  when  Fred,  blushing  like  any  ordinary  girl,  had 
left  her  to  those  deferred  slumbers,  Laura  Childs  lay  awake 
a  long  time.  .  .  . 

Frederica,  alone  in  her  tiny  room,  had  a  very  sober 
minute.  As  she  thought  it  over,  Laura's  "loathing"  did 
not  seem  quite  convincing.  "She's  got  something  on  her 
chest,"  Fred  said.  Even  when  they  were  little  girls  she 
had  loved  her  cousin  more  than  any  one  in  the  world,  and 

170 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

to  have  Laura  depressed  disturbed  her  sharply.  "Can  it 
be  Jack?"  she  asked  herself.  "I  wish  Pay  ton  or  Bobby 
would  kick  him!"  That  she  should  hand  the  infliction 
of  such  chastisement  over  to  a  brother  showed  that  Fred 
could  revert  to  the  type  she  despised.  But  she  was  so 
troubled  about  Lolly  that  she  almost  forgot  her  satis 
faction  in  being  told — what  she  already  knew! — that 
Howard  appreciated  her  cleverness. 


CHAPTER  XV 

EXCEPT  for  the  Lakeville  ladies,  so  looked  down  upon 
by  Flora,  Fred  had  very  few  visitors  that  summer. 
Even  Laura  did  not  come  very  often,  though  Lakeville 
was  only  five  miles  from  Laketon.  Perhaps  she  was  afraid 
of  being  asked  questions.  In  September  both  girls  were 
invited  by  a  school  friend  to  come  to  the  seashore  for  two 
or  three  weeks,  but  Laura  waited  to  know  that  Fred  had 
declined  the  invitation  ("I  can't  fool  with  Society.  I'm 
on  my  job!"  said  Fred)  before  she,  Laura,  accepted  it. 

There  was,  however,  one  formal  call  which  gave  Fred- 
erica  great  joy ;  her  grandmother  and  Miss  Eliza  Graham 
came  over  from  the  Laurels  to  see  her — and  she  never  be 
haved  more  outrageously!  She  told  Mr.  Weston  after 
ward  that  she  had  had  the  time  of  her  life  joshing  Mrs. 
Holmes.  He  assured  her  that  she  was  an  imp,  but  that 
he  would  gladly  have  paid  the  price  of  admission  if  he 
had  only  known  that  the  circus  was  going  to  take  place. 
He  asked  his  cousin  about  it  afterward,  but  her  descrip 
tion  of  the  scene  was  not  so  funny  as  Fred's.  Indeed,  it 
was  rather  pathetic — poor  Freddy,  fighting  her  grand 
mother,  while  Miss  Eliza  stood  outside  the  ring,  so  to 
speak,  and  watched,  pityingly. 

"For  there's  nothing  one  can  do  for  her,  Arthur,"  Miss 

172 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Eliza  told  him;  "she's  got  to  get  some  very  hard  knocks 
before  shell  give  up  advising  the  Creator  how  to  manage 
His  world." 

She  and  Mr.  Weston  had  found  a  deserted  spot  on  the 
veranda  at  the  Laurels,  and  she  told  him  what  she  thought 
of  Freddy.  "It's  a  sort  of  violent  righteousness  that  pos 
sesses  the  child,"  she  said.  "Where  does  she  come  from, 
Arthur?  That  mother!  That  grandmother!  She  must 
be  a  foundling." 

' '  Her  father  had  power.  His  righteousness  was  not  very 
violent,  but  his  temper  was." 

"She  must  make  her  mother  very  unhappy." 

"Yeast  makes  dough  uncomfortable,  I  suppose,"  he 
admitted. 

"She's  an  unscrupulous  truth-teller,"  Miss  Graham  said, 
and  repeated  some  of  the  impertinently  accurate  things 
that  Frederica,  sitting  in  her  ugly  little  living-room,  with 
the  Japanese  fans  on  the  walls,  and  yellow  "Votes  for 
Women"  pennons  over  the  doors,  had  flung  at  Mrs. 
Holmes.  "Her  grandmother  said  the  'women  of  to-day 
cheapened  themselves  ' ;  to  which  she  replied  that  '  the 
women  of  yesterday  were  dear  at  any  price' !" 

"She  told  me  she  had  merely  been  truthful,"  Mr.  Wes 
ton  said.  "Justifying  herself  on  the  ground  of  Truth  is 
Fred's  form  of  repentance.  But  the  girl  suffers,  Cousin 
Eliza!" 

"She'll  have  to  suffer  a  good  deal  before  she'll  amount 
to  anything,"  Miss  Eliza  said,  dryly;  "I  wanted  to  shake 
her!  Arthur,  if  you  had  any  missionary  spirit,  you  would 
marry  her." 

173 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

" But  Cousin  Mary  says  she  is  'not  a  young  woman  who 
is  calculated ' — " 

They  both  laughed.  "Nonsense!  If  she  gets  a  master, 
she'll  make  him  happy.  A  good-natured  boy  won't  do. 
The  gray  mare  would  be  the  better  horse.  Marry  her  and 
beat  her." 

"Maitland  will  have  to  do  the  beating,"  he  said.  But 
he  could  not  evade  her. 

"Don't  be  a  fool.    Take  her!    I  know  you  want  her." 

" I  do,"  he  confessed.  "But  the  little  matter  of  her  not 
wanting  me  seems  to  be  an  obstacle." 

Miss  Eliza,  her  old  eagle  head  silhouetted  against  the 
dazzle  of  the  lake,  meditated;  then  she  said,  "Is  she  en 
gaged  to  Mr.  Maitland?" 

"No,  but  she's  going  to  be.  Besides,  dear  lady,  I  am 
forty-seven  and  she  is  twenty-six.  Youth  calls  to  Youth! 
Please  don't  suggest  that  she  might  prefer  to  be  an  'old 
man's  darling. ' ' 

"  You're  not  an  old  man.  But  the  average  young  man — 
if  he  fell  in  love  with  her — would  be  under  her  thumb." 

"Why  do  you  say  'if'?  Maitland  has  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  head  over  heels!  He  can't  stop  talking  about 
her  brains  for  five  minutes  at  a  time!" 

Miss  Eliza  gave  him  a  keen  look.  ' '  Well,  perhaps  human 
nature  has  changed  since  my  time.  Then,  a  boy  didn't 
fall  in  love  with  a  girl's  brains,  though  a  grown  man  some 
times  did.  Cleverness  in  a  girl  is  like  playfulness  in  a 
kitten;  it  amuses  a  middle-aged  man.  The  next  thing  he 
knows,  he's  in  love!" 

"Amuses!"  Arthur  Weston  broke  in,  cynically;  "to 

174 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

'amuse'  a  middle-aged  man  doesn't  seem  a  very  satisfy 
ing  occupation  for  a  girl.  Don't  you  think  she'd  rather 
have  a  boy's  ridiculously  solemn  devotion?" 

" But  don't  I  tell  you? — Love  comes  next !  And  I  know 
you  are  in  love,  because  you  are  so  foolish.  Arthur,  I'm 
ashamed  of  you!  Do  have  some  spunk.  Get  her!  Get 
her!  I  don't  believe  she's  in  love  with  that  boy." 

He  gave  a  rather  hopeless  laugh.  "Oh,  yes,  she  is.  I 
haven't  the  ghost  of  a  chance;  besides — "  he  paused,  took 
off  his  glasses,  and  put  them  on  again,  with  deliberation — 
"besides,  if  I  had  a  chance,  I'd  be  a  cur  to  take  it.  As  you 
know,  I  had  a  blow  below  the  belt.  A  man  never  quite 
gets  his  wind  again,  after  a  little  affair  like  mine.  It  would 
be  great  luck  for  me  to  have  Fred,  but  what  sort  of  luck 
would  it  be  for  her  to  spend  her  life  'amusing'  me?" 

"  Nonsense !  I  won't  listen  to  such — "  she  paused,  while 
three  girls,  romping  along,  arm  in  arm,  swept  past  them, 
down  the  veranda.  "Pretty  things,  aren't  they?"  she 
said,  looking  after  them  with  tender  old  eyes ;  "how  lovely 
Youth  is! — even  when  it  does  its  best  to  be  ugly  as  to 
clothes  and  manners,  like  two  of  those  youngsters.  They 
didn't  even  see  us,  they  were  so  absorbed  in  being  young, 
bless  their  hearts!  The  outside  one  who  bowed  is  a 
Wharton  girl.  She  is  a  charming  child,  charming!  And 
doing  wonderfully  at  college.  But  those  others — !" 

"Awful,"  he  agreed.  "Cousin  Eliza,  what's  the  matter 
with  women,  nowadays?" 

"  Perfectly  simple.    They  are  drunk !" 

"Drunk?" 

"With  the  sudden  sense  of  freedom.     My  dear  boy, 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

reflect:  When  you  were  born — no,  you're  too  young " — he 
waved  a  deprecating  hand,  but  he  liked  the  phrase — "when 
/  was  born — that's  seventy-three  years  ago — women  were 
dependent  upon  your  delightful  sex;  so,  of  course,  they 
were  cowards  and  you  were  bullies.  Oh,  yes;  there  were 
exceptions!  There  were  courageous  women,  and  hen 
pecked  men.  And,  of  course,  cowardice  didn't  always 
know  it  was  cowardly,  and  bullying  was  often  nothing 
but  kindness.  But  you  can  say  what  you  please,  women 
were  not  free !  They  had  to  do  what  their  men  wanted 
— or  quarrel  with  their  families,  and  strike  out  for  them 
selves!  And  what  was  there  for  them  to  do  to  earn 
their  living?  Outside  of  domestic  service,  nothing  but 
teaching,  sewing,  and  Sairey  Gamp  nursing!  When  I 
was  a  girl  I  did  not  know  enough  to  teach  and  I  hated  sew 
ing.  So,  if  I  had  wanted  to  do  anything  my  father  and 
mother  didn't  approve  of,  I  couldn't  have  kicked  up  my 
heels  and  said,  "I'll  support  myself!'  Besides,  I  shouldn't 
have  dared.  The  Fifth  Commandment  was  still  in  exist 
ence  when  I  was  young.  But  now,"  she  ended,  "that's  all 
changed.  Girls  can  kick  up  their  heels  whenever  they  feel 
like  it!" 

He  laughed,  and  said  that  Fred  Payton  had  kicked 
entirely  over  the  traces. 

"She's  not  the  only  one,"  Miss  Graham  said;  "those 
three  girls  who  passed  us  have  done  it.  That  nice  Wharton 
child  is  going  to  study  law,  if  you  please !  Yes,  Freedom ! 
It's  gone  to  their  heads;  it's  champagne  on  empty  stom 
achs.  Empty  only  for  the  last  two  generations — before 
that  there  were  endless  occupations  to  fill  our  stomachs. 

176 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

(My  metaphors  are  a  little  mixed!)  When  I  was  a  girl, 
the  daughters  of  a  house,  even  when  people  were  as  well 
off  as  Father,  always  had  things  to  do — '  Duties,'  we  called 
them.  But  nowadays  there's  not  enough  housework  to 
go  round;  so  if  girls  are  rich,  they  play  at  work  in — in 
anything,  just  to  kill  time!  Like  your  Miss  Freddy." 

"Fred  is  making  a  success  of  her  real-estate  business," 
he  said ;  ' '  I  hadn't  a  particle  of  faith  in  it,  but  she's  making 
it  go." 

"It  doesn't  matter  whether  you  have  faith  or  not;  the 
change  has  come:  she  had  to  have  something  to  do!  That's 
the  secret  of  the  situation,  and  there's  no  use  kicking 
against  it.  You  men  have  just  got  to  accept  the  fact  of 
the  change.  All  you  can  do  is  to  fall  back  on  the  thing 
that  hasn't  changed,  and  never  can  change,  and  never  will 
change.  Give  girls  that  and  they  will  get  sober!" 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"My  dear  boy,  let  them  be  women,  be  wives,  be  moth 
ers  !  Then  being  suffragists,  or  real-estate  agents,  or  any 
thing  else,  won't  do  them  the  slightest  harm.  Marry  them, 
Arthur,  marry  them!" 

"All  of  them?"  he  protested,  in  alarm. 

She  laughed,  but  held  her  own.  "I  always  tell  Mary 
that  all  that  nice,  bad  child,  your  Freddy  Payton,  needs, 
is  a  husband.  Which  Mary  thinks  is  very  indelicate  in  me. 
But  it's  true.  As  for  suffrage  that  the  women  are  all 
cackling  about,  I  don't  care  a — a — " 

"Damn?"  he  suggested. 

"Copper,"  she  reproved  him.  "I  don't  care  a  copper 
about  it!  I've  always  called  myself  an  anti,  but  I  never 

177 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

really  gave  it  much  thought,  one  way  or  the  other,  until 
I  went  to  an  anti-suffrage  meeting  last  year;  that  made 
me  a  suffragist !  I  declare,  the  foolishness  of  some  of  their 
arguments  against  voting  went  a  long  ways  toward  prov 
ing  that  perhaps  they  really  haven't  the  brains  to  vote! 
Somebody  said — Bessie  Childs,  I  believe  it  was — that  the 
ballot  would  take  woman  out  of  the  Home.  I  reflected 
that  Bridge  took  Bessie  out  of  her  home,  for  three  or  four 
hours  once  a  week,  and  voting  would  take  her  out  for 
three  or  four  minutes,  once  a  year.  But  I  kept  quiet  until 
somebody  intimated  that  the  *  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle ' 
is  not  competent,  if  you  please,  to  deposit  a  ballot !  Then 
I  stood  right  up  in  meeting,  and  said,  '  I'm  only  a  poor  old 
maid,  but  to  my  way  of  thinking,  if  the  hand  is  as  incom 
petent  as  that,  it  is  far  more  dangerous  to  trust  a  cradle 
to  it  than  a  ballot!'" 

"What  did  they  say  to  that?" 

"They  said  a  cradle  was  every  woman's  first  duty. 
'But  it  would  be  most  improper  in  me  to  have  a  cradle!' 
I  said.  I  know  they  thought  me  coarse." 

"So  you  are  a  suffragist?" 

"Indeed  I'm  not!  I  went  to  a  suffrage  meeting,  and 
really,  Arthur,  I  was  ashamed  of  my  sex;  such  violence! 
such  conceit!  such  shallowness!  such  impropriety! 
One  of  them  said  that  any  married  woman  whose  husband 
did  not  believe  in  suffrage  should  leave  him  or  else  have 
branded  on  her  forehead  a  word — I  cannot  repeat  to  you 
the  word  she  used.  And  another  of  them  said  that  all  the 
antis  were  'idiotic  droolers.'  I  thought  of  my  dear  sister, 
and  I  just  couldn't  stand  that!  I  said,  'Well,  ladies,  if 

178 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

the  women  who  don't  want  the  vote  are  idiots,  is  it  wise 
to  thrust  it  upon  them?  Will  idiots  make  good  voters?'  " 

"You  had  'em  there." 

"No;  they  just  said  'the  vote  would  educate  women.' 
And  as  for  women  not  wanting  it — 'why,  we'll  cram  it 
down  their  throats,'  one  of  them  said.  Nice  idea  of  democ 
racy,  wasn't  it?  She  explained  that  some  slaves  hadn't 
wanted  freedom,  but  that  was  no  reason  for  not  abolishing 
slavery!  And,  of  course,  she  was  right.  The  suffragists 
have  brains,  you  know,  Arthur.  Well,  as  a  result  of  a 
dose  of  each  party,  I'm  nothing  at  all — very  much." 

"You're  agin'  'em  both?"  he  suggested. 

"Oh,  I  still  call  myself  an  anti,  because  the  antis  are, 
at  least,  harmless;  but  I  really  don't  care  much,  one  way 
or  the  other.  No;  the  thing  that  troubles  me  isn't  suf 
frage  or  non-suffrage;  it's  the  fact  that  somehow  women 
seem  to  be  fighting  Nature.  That  worries  me.  I  know 
that  Nature  can  be  depended  upon  to  spank  them  into 
common  sense  when  she  gets  hold  of  them,  but,  unfor 
tunately,  men  won't  help  Nature  out.  They  don't  like 
girls  like  Miss  Payton — I  mean,  the  young  men  don't. 
They  don't  like  girls  who  are  cleverer  than  they  are;  but 
no  girl  is  cleverer  than  you!  Do  'come  out  of  the  West, 
Lochinvar,  come  out  of  the  West ' !" 

He  laughed  and  shook  his  head.  "My  dear  cousin,  I 
am  dead  in  love  with  you,  so  don't  try  to  turn  my  affec 
tions  in  another  direction.  Besides,  Howard  Maitland  is 
coming  home  the  end  of  November." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BUT  it  was  the  middle  of  October  that  saw  Howard 
Maitland  back  again  in  town.  In  spite  of  Frederica's 
friendly  assurance  that  Jack  McKnight  hadn't  a  ghost  of 
a  chance,  that  "queue"  lining  up  at  Mr.  William  Childs's 
front  door-steps  bothered  him.  So,  with  many  large  cases 
of  specimens,  and  a  mahogany  tan  on  his  lean  face,  he 
arrived,  one  morning,  on  the  Western  express.  He 
hardly  waited  to  remove  the  evidences  of  several  nights 
in  the  sleeping-car,  before  reconnoitering  the  Childs 
house.  The  queue  was  not  visible,  but  neither  was  Laura. 
She  was  in  Philadelphia,  a  maid  told  him,  and  would  not 
be  back  for  another  week.  He  went  off  rather  crest 
fallen. 

"I'll  go  and  see  Freddy,"  he  consoled  himself. 

As  he  shot  up  in  an  elevator  in  the  Sturtevant  Building, 
whom  should  he  run  across  but  old  Weston !  "  I'm  on  my 
way  to  the  real-estate  office,"  he  said,  grinning  like  the 
cub  he  was,  at  Fred's  plaything. 

Mr.  Weston  did  not  grin.  "I  believe  she's  in  her  office. 
Thought  you  weren't  to  get  home  until  next  month?" 

"Wasn't.  But— well,  I  got  kind  of  stale  on  shells,  and 
I  thought  I'd  like  some  smoke  and  soot  for  a  change.  So 
I  came  home.  Oh — you  get  off  here?" 

1 80 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Weston  said,  briefly,  and  stepped  out  into 
the  echoing  corridor.  In  his  private  office  he  sat  down, 
and,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  legs  stretched  out 
in  front  of  him,  regarded  his  boots. 

"Well,  he's  back,"  he  said  to  himself. 

After  a  long  time  he  got  up,  put  on  his  hat,  and,  heed 
less  of  the  questioning  young  lady  at  the  typewriter, 
slammed  his  office  door  behind  him.  "I'm  hard  hit,"  he 
told  himself,  roughly,  as  he  stepped  into  the  descending 
elevator.  "It  appears  that  I  am  capable  of  feeling  some 
thing  more  than  'amusement.'  I'll  go  and  buy  the  wed 
ding-present.  The  application  of  a  check  that  I  can't 
afford  may  be  curative." 

The  cure  would  have  seemed  still  more  necessary  if  he 
could  have  seen  how  Howard  was  welcomed  in  the  real- 
estate  office.  Frederica's  astonished  pleasure  was  as  frank 
as  a  man's. 

"Good  work!"  she  said,  and  struck  her  hand  into  his. 
"But  I  didn't  expect  you  for  a  month!" 

"I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,"  he  told  her,  joyously. 
"How's  business?  How's  Laura?" 

"Well,  clients  are  not  exactly  blocking  the  corridors," 
she  said;  "but  I'm  bursting  with  pride;  I  came  out 
ahead  last  month!" 

"Gee!"  he  said,  admiringly.    "Well,  tell  us  the  news!" 

"I've  finished  my  paper,"  she  said.  She  pushed  an 
open  map  aside  so  that  she  could  sit  on  the  edge  of  her 
big  office  table,  and  looked  at  him  delightedly.  "I'm  crazy 
to  read  it  to  you.  Sit  down  and  light  up!"  She  struck 
a  match  on  the  sole  of  her  shoe,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

181 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I'm  crazy  to  hear  it!  Laura's  skiddooed.  I  went  to 
Billy-boy's" — he  blew  the  match  out  and  dropped  it  on 
the  floor; — "and  got  thrown  down  on  the  front  steps." 

"Yes,  she's  playing  around  with  the  Mortons.  I  was 
asked,  but — there  are  so  many  more  interesting  things 
here!  Howard,  they  are  talking  about  abolishing  the 
red-light  district,  and  we're  going  to  get  that  bill  I  wrote 
you  about,  through  the  Legislature,  if  we  bust!" 

"What  bill?" 

"Registration.  Health  certificate — or  no  marriage  li 
cense!  You've  got  to  roll  up  your  sleeves  and  get  busy." 

"All  right,"  he  agreed,  promptly.  "She's  not  engaged, 
is  she?" 

"Who?  Laura?  Heavens,  no!  She  has  something  else 
to  think  of  than  your  sex.  Look  here :  why  don't  you  come 
out  to  my  bungalow  and  we'll  talk  things  out?"  She  ex 
plained  that  though  she  had  moved  back  to  Payton  Street 
she  still  used  the  camp  when  she  had  what  she  called  a 
"night  out."  "I  take  Flora  along  for  propriety.  Isn't  that 
rich?  I  tell  you  what,  I've  been  a  boon  to  the  whole  con 
nection.  I've  given  'em  something  to  talk  about!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  going  out  in  my  car  this  after 
noon?"  he  asked.  But  she  put  him  off  until  the  next  day. 
She  was  thinking  that  she  must  brace  the  house  up  and 
arrange  for  a  rattling  good  supper!  "We'll  have  a  big 
fire,"  she  thought,  cozily,  "and  we'll  sit  up  and  talk  till 
all's  blue.  .  .  .  You'll  stay  all  night?"  she  said.  "I've  a 
very  decent  little  guest-room." 

For  once  she  startled  him,  but  her  frank  gaze  made 
him  almost  ashamed  of  his  instinctive  sense  of  fitness. 

182 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

He  said  no,  he  wouldn't  stay  all  night;  he  had  to  be  on 
hand  very  early  the  next  morning  to  look  after  a  consign 
ment  of  freight.  "But  I'll  turn  up  at  Payton  Street  in 
the  car  to-morrow  afternoon,  about  four.  Is  that  right?" 

"Just  right,"  she  said.  She  had  decided  quickly  that 
she  would  send  Flora  out  Friday  morning  with  provi 
sions.  "I  bet  he'll  take  notice  when  I  feed  him!"  she 
thought.  "What  kind  of  a  salad  shall  I  have?  Not  one 
of  those  footling  'ladies'  luncheon'  things,  all  nuts  and 
apples  and  stuffed  truck.  Men  want  just  lettuce  or 
tomatoes.  No  fancy  doings!" 

She  was  anxious  to  get  rid  of  him  and  go  home  and  make 
her  plans.  It  occurred  to  her  to  ask  her  mother  what  kind 
of  cheese  a  man  would  like.  But  no,  that  would  involve 
her  in  a  lot  of  talk  about  "  propriety."  She  nodded  to  him 
over  her  shoulder  as  he  left  the  office,  and  the  next  minute 
she  heard  the  elevator  door  clang  behind  him.  Then,  with 
a  furtive  glance  about  the  room,  as  if  to  make  sure  she  was 
alone,  she  stooped  and  picked  up  that  half-burnt  match 
which  had  lighted  his  cigarette.  .  .  .  For  a  minute  she 
held  it  in  her  hand,  then  laughed,  shamefacedly,  and  put 
it  in  her  pocket-book.  Her  face  was  vivid  with  happiness. 
She  pulled  down  the  top  of  her  desk,  then  flung  it  up  again, 
and  scrawled  on  one  of  her  business  cards:  "Closed  until 
Monday  morning."  "I'll  stick  that  in  the  door,"  she 
said;  "  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  spare  a  minute  for  the  office  to 
morrow."  But,  despite  her  haste,  she  stood  for  a  dreamy 
moment  smiling  into  space.  Then  she  sat  down  in  her 
revolving  chair  and  sunk  her  chin  on  her  fist. 
He  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer! 

183 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

The  words  sang  themselves  in  her  heart.  ' '  Goose !  Why 
did  he  'stand  it'  as  long  as  he  did?  Well,  he  didn't  lose 
any  time  getting  to  the  Sturtevant  Building!"  She  felt 
quite  confident  that  he  wouldn't  "stand  it"  longer  than 
the  next  night,  then,  alone  before  the  fire  in  her  little 
house,  he  would — ask  her.  The  thought  was  like  wine! 
But  instantly  another  thought  made  her  quiver.  Why 
should  he  "ask,"  when  she  was  so  ready  to  give?  She 
wished  that  instead  of  "asking"  her  he  would  take  things 
for  granted.  She  wished  he  would  just  say :  "When  shall 
we  be  married,  Fred?"  And  she  would  say,  just  as  non 
chalantly,  "Oh,  any  old  time!"  And  he  would  say,  "To 
morrow?"  And  she  would  say,  "Oh,  well,  the  family 
wouldn't  like  it  if  we  didn't  let  'em  celebrate  getting  me 
off  their  hands!"  She  thought  of  Laura's  anxiety  about 
the  bridesmaids'  dresses,  and  smiled.  "  I  hate  that  kind  of 
fuss  as  much  as  men  do,  but  it  would  be  a  shame  to  dis 
appoint  Lolly."  So  she  would  say,  "  Call  it  a  month  from 
now."  Then  he  would  urge  —  that  brought  the  other 
thought  again.  Why  should  he  urge? — when  all  she 
wanted  was  to  give!  Oh,  how  much  she  wanted  to  give! 
Her  heart  seemed  to  rise  in  her  throat,  and  she  said,  aloud, 
1 '  Why  not  ?  Why  not  ? "  A  pang  of  happiness  brought  the 
tears  to  her  eyes.  It  was  not  only  love  that  stirred  her — 
the  simple,  human  instinct — it  was  the  realization  that 
love  was  seconded  by  an  intellectual  conviction,  and  that 
she  could  show  by  her  own  act  that  women  and  men  are 
equals,  not  only  in  all  the  things  for  which  she  had  been 
fighting  (they  seemed  so  little  now!) — opinions,  rights, 
privileges;  but  equals  also  in  this  supreme  business  of 

184 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

loving.  Yes,  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  be 
the  one  to  ask.  No  reason  why  she  should  not  be  the 
beggar !  The  generosity  of  it  made  her  glad  from  head  to 
foot.  She  stood  up,  her  lips  parted,  her  breath  catching  in 
her  throat;  she  would  give,  before  he  could  ask!  It  was 
a  sacramental  instant;  for  with  the  purpose  of  giving— 
''herself,  her  soul  and  body" — was  that  exalted  realization 
that  an  opinion  of  the  mind  can  be  merged  with  an  im 
pulse  of  the  body.  She  was  profoundly  shaken  and  sol 
emn.  Suddenly  she  put  her  hands  over  her  face,  and  stood 
motionless:  there  were  no  words,  but  the  gesture  was  a 
prayer.  When  a  little  later  she  left  her  office  her  face  was 
white.  She  was  happier  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her  life. 

She  walked  home,  stopping,  on  a  sudden  impulse,  to 
buy  a  bunch  of  violets  for  her  mother.  At  her  own  front 
door  she  met  the  postman,  who  gave  her  a  card  from  Laura: 
"I'm  going  on  to  Boston — to  stay  with  the  Browns.  Home 
next  week."  Under  the  little  scrawling  signature,  "L.  C,," 
was  another  line:  "Why  not  write  H.  M.  and  tell  him  to 
bring  home  some  Filipino  gauze  for  the  bridesmaids* 
dresses?" 

Frederica  bit  a  joyous  lip.  "Imp!  Well,"  she  thought, 
with  a  queer  little  matronly  air  of  amusement,  "she'll  get 
her  dress  sooner  than  she  expects."  Then  she  thrust  her 
key  into  the  lock  and  let  herself  into  the  hall;  the  light 
in  the  red  globe  flickered  in  the  draught  of  fresh  air,  and 
Andy  Payton's  hat  moved  slightly.  The  shut-up  stillness 
of  the  house  was  full  of  a  sickly  fragrance:  "Bay  rum!" 
Fred  said,  resignedly.  "She  has  a  headache,  I  suppose.'* 

She  ran  up-stairs,  the  violets  in  her  hand.  "Finished 
J3  185 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

your  puzzle  ?"  she  called  out  at  the  sitting-room  door.  But 
the  puzzle  was  still  chaotic;  Mrs.  Payton  was  standing 
before  a  mirror,  tying  a  handkerchief  around  her  head. 

"Too  bad  you  have  a  headache!"  Frederica  said. 
""  Mother,  I  shall  want  Flora  to-morrow.  I'm  going  to  the 
camp  for  the  night.  Here  are  some  violets  for  you." 

Mrs.  Payton  put  out  a  languid  hand  and  said,  "Thank 
you,  dear." 

Then  she  sank  into  a  pillowy  chair  and  tried  to  dab 
some  more  bay  rum  on  her  temples,  but  it  ran  down  her 
face  on  to  her  dress,  and  had  to  be  wiped  off,  feebly. 

"I  hope  it  won't  stain  my  waist,"  she  bemoaned  her 
self.  "The  violets  are  very  nice,  dear.  I  always  used  to 
say  when  I  was  a  young  lady — '  Give  me  violets !'  As  for 
Flora,  she  is  simply  impossible!  She's  been  crying  all 
day." 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  her?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Some  nonsense  about  not 
wanting  to  live.  Rather  different  from  the  way  servants 
talked  when  I  went  to  housekeeping.  She  said — "  Mrs. 
Payton  paused,  and  with  closed  eyes  cautiously  tipped  the 
bottle  of  bay  rum  on  the  bandage  across  her  forehead, 
then  hurriedly  sopped  her  cheeks  as  it  trickled  down  from 
under  the  handkerchief.  "  Oh,  dear,  it  will  stain  my  dress! 
She  said  she  had  'nothing  to  do/  I  said,  'Nothing  to  do? 
I  can  find  you  enough  to  do.'  She  said  she  was  tired  of 
housework.  I  told  her  that  was  very  wicked.  I  said,  '  I'm 
busy  from  morning  till  night,  and  what  would  you  think 
of  me  if  I  said  I  was  tired  of  doing  my  duty?'  Miss  Carter 
says  she  is  simply  dead  in  love  with  one  of  the  hack-drivers, 

186 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

who  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  her.  I  can't  think  so; 
Flora  has  always  seemed  so  refined.  I  don't  believe  she'd 
cheapen  herself  that  way.  I  wish  she  was  more  religious. 
Religion  is  so  good  for  servants.  It  makes  them  con 
tented,  and  gives  them  an  interest.  Not  but  what  Flora  is 
a  good  girl,  only  I  should  be  so  much  more  comfortable  if 
she  was  contented.  I  wish  I  didn't  feel  my  girls'  moods 
as  I  do.  When  they  are  cross,  I  feel  it  in  my  knees.  I'm 
too  sensitive.  Freddy,  dear,  ask  Miss  Carter  to  bring  me 
a  hot- water  bag.  Oh,  wait  a  minute !  I  want  to  speak  to 
you.  I — " 

Something  in  the  next  room  fell  with  a  thud  against  the 
door;  Frederica  fled.  Mrs.  Payton  sighed  and  shut  her 
eyes,  pressing  the  fresh  fragrance  of  the  violets  against  her 
hot  face. 

"Why  does  she  mind  him?"  she  thought,  with  languid 
resentment.  "If  she  was  only  like  Aunt  Adelaide!  I 
wonder  if  she'll  remember  to  tell  Miss  Carter  to  get  my 
hot-water  bag." 

Frederica  did  remember,  but  she  did  not  tell  Miss 
Carter:  she  never  went  into  that  room  in  the  ell  when 
she  could  help  it.  She  filled  the  hot-water  bag  herself, 
brought  it  to  Mrs.  Payton,  suggested  bed  instead  of 
the  big  chair,  and  vanished  into  the  welcome  silence  of 
her  own  room. 

Later,  in  the  dining-room,  as  she  dreamed  over  her  soli 
tary  dinner,  she  roused  herself  to  tell  Flora  that  she  was 
to  go  out  to  the  bungalow  the  next  day.  "You've  got  to 
get  up  a  bully  supper  for  me,  Flora.  Mr.  Maitland  is 
coming." 

187 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

There  was  no  reply,  and  Frederica  looked  up.  "  What's 
the  matter?  You  got  a  headache,  too?" 

"I  was  expecting  a  friend  o'  mine  would  call  on  me  to 
morrow  night,"  Flora  said,  sullenly. 

Frederica  was  genuinely  concerned.  "  I'm  awfully  sorry, 
but  Mr.  Maitland  is  coming  to  see  me  and  I  really  must 
be  out  there.  Can't  you  put  your  friend  off?  Who  is  he?" 

Flora  looked  coy. 

"Ah,  now,  Flora,"  Miss  Payton  said,  good-naturedly, 
"what's  all  this?  I  must  look  into  this!"  The  teasing 
banished  the  gloom  for  a  minute  or  two.  "Send  him  a 
little  note  and  tell  him  you'll  be  home  Saturday  night," 
Fred  suggested.  She  wasn't  quite  sure  of  kitchen  eti 
quette  on  such  matters;  but,  after  all,  why  shouldn't 
Flora  do  just  what  her  young  mistress  was  doing? 

"  Maybe  he  will  come  to-night,"  she  said,  encouragingly, 
and  Flora,  with  a  flicker  of  hope,  said,  "Maybe  he  will; 
if  he  does,  I  guess  I'll  invite  him  to  go  to  a  movie  with  me 
next  week."  ' 

"Perhaps  he'll  invite  you,"  Fred  said. 

But  Flora's  hopes  did  not  rise  to  such  a  height.  "If 
he  doesn't  come  in  to-night,  I'll  send  him  a  reg'ler  written 
invitation  to  a  movie,"  she  said,  happily. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AS  things  turned  out,  Flora  might  have  seen  her 
"friend"  in  Payton  Street  Friday  night,  had  de 
votion  prompted  him  to  call,  for  the  festivity  at  the  camp 
was  postponed  for  three  days.  The  morning  mail  brought 
Frederica  a  brief  line  from  Howard  Maitland;  he  had 
found,  he  said,  after  he  left  her  office,  that  he  had  to  run 
on  to  Philadelphia.  Back  Monday  morning.  If  her  invi 
tation  held  good,  he'd  come  out  to  Lakeville  for  supper 
Monday  night.  The  letter  ended  with  some  scratched-out 
words,  which  looked  like,  "I  may  have  something  to  tell 
you — "  The  obliterated  line  made  her  glow!  But  the 
delay  was  disappointing.  Three  whole  days  before  she 
could  hear  that  "something"  he  wanted  to  tell  her — and 
she  wanted  to  hear!  Well,  it  would  give  her  more  time 
to  fix  things  up  in  the  cottage.  With  this  in  view,  she  and 
Zip  and  Flora  went  out  to  Lakeville  Sunday  morning,  and 
Fred  had  a  silent  day  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  dusting,  and 
work  on  her  suffrage  paper,  and  jolly  Flora,  whose  plain 
tive  dullness  was  beginning  to  be  rather  trying. 

"You  must  brace  up,  Flora,"  she  said;  "you  haven't 
half  dusted  the  legs  of  the  table!  I  don't  want  Mr.  Mait 
land  to  think  we  are  not  good  housekeepers,  just  because 
we  are  'New  Women,'  you  and  I!"  But  Flora  did  not 

189 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

brighten.  She  had  telephoned  the  "reg'ler  invitation  to 
the  movies "  before  leaving  Payton  Street,  but  the  "friend" 
had  only  said  (she  told  Frederica)  "he'd  see  'bout  it.  He'll 
write  to  me,  and  111  git  it  Monday,"  she  said.  But  it  was 
evident  that  she  had  very  little  hope  of  an  acceptance. 

All  that  pleasant,  hazy  Sunday  Frederica  followed  the 
old,  old  example  of  her  grandmother,  the  cave-dweller, 
and  decked  her  little  shelter.  She  went  into  the  woods 
and  brought  back  an  armful  of  maple  leaves  and,  with 
Flora's  melancholy  assistance,  fastened  them  against  the 
walls  and  over  the  doors,  hiding,  to  some  extent,  the 
frieze  of  fans  and  the  yellow  pennons  of  the  Cause.  She 
even  took  down  the  muslin  curtains  and  washed  and  ironed 
them  herself,  and  put  them  up  again,  crisp  and  dainty. 
The  little  room  bloomed  with  her  joy.  When  she  sat  down 
to  "polish"  her  article  she  kept  jumping  up  every  few 
minutes  to  move  a  bowl  of  flowers,  or  put  an  extra  book 
on  the  mantelpiece. 

"I  wonder,"  she  thought,  "if  he  can  read  the  titles  from 
that  morris  chair?"  She  had  decided  in  what  chair  he  was 
to  sit.  She  tried  the  visual  possibilities  of  the  chair  her 
self  and,  by  screwing  up  her  eyes,  found  she  could  just 
make  out  the  appallingly  learned  names  on  the  backs  of 
some  of  the  books.  "  That  will  show  him  what  I'm  up  to !" 
she  said. 

It  was  the  old  Life  Purpose — the  eternal  invitation! 
The  bird  preens  itself,  the  flower  pours  its  perfume,  the 
girl's  cheek  curves  like  a  shell.  A  man  can  almost  always 
see  the  beckoning  of  that  rosy  curve,  or  of  a  little  curl 
nestling  at  the  back  of  a  white  neck,  or  of  soft,  shy  eyes; 

190 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

for  so,  in  all  the  ages,  Life  has  invited.    But  it  has  never 
beckoned  with  a  German  treatise ! 

Frederica,  giving  Zip  a  lump  of  sugar  and  making  a  soli 
tary  cup  of  tea  for  herself,  did  not  know  that  she  was 
beckoning.  .  .  . 

When,  at  five  o'clock,  a  motor  came  chugging  along  the 
road,  and  Arthur  Weston  opened  the  door  and  demanded 
tea,  he,  at  least,  felt  the  invitation — which  was  not  for 
him.  The  white  curtains,  the  open  pianoj  the  warmth  and 
fragrance  and  pleasantness,  and,  most  of  all,  Frederica, 
sitting  on  a  'little  stool  by  the  fire,  her  face  sparkling  with 
welcome.  Everything  was  beckoning! 

Standing  up,  warming  his  hands  at  the  fire  while  Fred 
ran  out  to  the  kitchen  to  make  fresh  tea  for  him,  the  caller 
read  the  names  of  the  books  lined  up  in  a  row  between  the 
lighted  candles  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  whistled. 

"Is  this  your  light  reading?"  he  said,  as  she  came  back 
with  the  cream-pitcher.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  lay  in  some 
funny  papers  for  the  simple  male  mind!"  Then  he  pulled 
Zip's  ears,  took  his  tea,  and  said  he  wished  he  could  ever 
get  enough  sugar. 

"I  saw  Maitland  on  Thursday,"  he  said,  reaching  for 
another  lump. 

"Yes,  he  is  on  deck,"  Fred  said. 

Her  man  of  business  made  a  hopeless,  laughing  gesture, 
as  if  he  gave  up  trying  to  solve  a  puzzle.  "Are  they  en 
gaged,  or  aren't  they?"  he  said  to  himself.  Her  way  of 
speaking  of  the  cub  was  certainly  as  indifferent  as  it  well 
could  be !  "  But  that  doesn't  prove  anything, ' '  he  thought, 
drearily. 

191 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

He  stayed  a  long  time ;  he  had  a  feeling  that  his  call  was 
a  sort  of  last  chapter.  "In  about  a  week  I'll  get  one  of 
those  confounded  engagement  letters,"  he  told  himself. 
He  settled  down  in  the  morris  chair — the  chair  in  which 
Howard  was  to  sit  the  next  evening — and  started  her 
talking.  He  did  not  need  to  make  any  replies.  Once 
Frederica  "got  going"  on  her  own  affairs  he  could  watch 
her  in  lazy,  tender  silence.  .  .  .  How  soon  it  would  be 
over — this  watching  and  listening!  How  soon  his  play 
thing  would  be  transformed  into  a  happy,  self-absorbed, 
quite  uninteresting  wife  and  mother !  For  Fred  Maitland, 
he  was  cynically  aware,  would  cease  to  interest  him,  be 
cause  she  would  cease  to  be  preposterous;  she  would  be 
normal.  Of  course  Fred  Payton  would  always  be  a 
darling  memory;  she  would  never  leave  his  heart.  His 
heart  ached  at  the  thought  of  its  own  emptiness  if  he 
should  try  to  turn  Fred  Payton  out  just  because  Fred 
Maitland  was  another  man's  wife.  No,  he  would  not 
even  try  to  forget  his  wild,  sweet,  silly  Freddy!  She 
should  always  remain  as,  back  somewhere  in  his  memory, 
Kate  remained,  dark-browed  and  cruel.  The  Kate  of  to 
day,  whose  presence  in  his  heart  would  be  an  impropriety, 
was  not  even  an  individual  to  him !  But  the  old  Kate  was 
his.  He  wondered  if  Fred  would  ever  become  as  vague  to 

him  as  Mrs.  Kate .  .  .  .     "What  is  her  name!    Oh, 

yes — Bailey.  When  I  heard  she'd  married  him,  I  didn't 
sleep  for  two  nights;  and  now  I  can  hardly  remember  his 
name!  'Men  have  died,  and  worms  have  eaten  them — ' 
.  .  .  Fred,  almost  all  the  houses  out  here  are  boarded  up. 
I  only  saw  a  light  in  one  house." 

192 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I  was  telling  you  of  the  woman's  movement  in  Swe 
den,"  she  said,  affronted. 

"I'd  like  to  see  a  woman's  movement  back  to  town 
from  this  cottage!  You  really  ought  not  to  be  out  here 
at  night,  just  you  and  Flora.  That  one  house  which  is 
open  will  be  closed  pretty  soon,  I  suppose?" 

"To-morrow,"  she  teased  him.  "And  Flora  and  I 
are  such  fragile  flowers,  it's  dreadful  to  think  of  our 
losing  the  protection  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Monks!  He  is 
a  paralytic,  and  she  weighs  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  pounds." 

"You'll  move  in  town  to-morrow,  won't  you?"  he  said, 
really  disturbed. 

She  had  to  admit  that  she  expected  to.  "Not  that  I'm 
nervous,  but  Howard  Maitland  is  coming  here  to  supper 
to-morrow  night,  and  I'm  going  to  make  him  take  us 
back  in  his  car  because  I've  got  such  a  lot  of  stuff  to 
carry  home." 

"Oh,"  he  said,  blankly.  "He's  coming  out  to  supper?" 
He  stared  into  the  fire  for  a  while;  then  he  got  on  his  feet. 
"I  must  start,"  he  said,  and  stood  looking  down  at  her. 
"Fred,"  he  said,  suddenly — in  the  uncertain  firelight  his 
face  seemed  to  quiver — '  *  you're  a  good  fellow.  And  if  your 
husband,  when  you  get  him,  isn't  the  finest  thing  that 
ever  happened,  I'll  punch  his  head!" 

His  voice  was  so  moved  that  she,  sitting  on  her  little 
stool,  close  to  the  hearth,  looked  up  at  him,  quickly. 
"Why,  he's  fond  of  me!"  she  thought.  Her  own  deep 
experience  made  her  heart  open  into  generous  acceptance 
of  any  human  affection.  She  jumped  up  and  put  both 

193 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

impulsive  hands  into  his.  "You  are  the  dearest  friend  I 
have!"  she  said;  then  hesitated,  laughed  —  and  kissed 
him. 

Her  lips  against  his  cheek  were  softly  cool,  like  the 
touch  of  flowers.  Nothing  that  she  had  ever  said  or  done 
removed  her  more  completely  from  the  possibility  of  pas 
sion.  He  was  able,  however,  to  make  a  grandfatherly  re 
joinder  to  the  effect  that  he  had  dandled  her  on  his  knee 
when  she  was  a  brat — which  was  not  strictly  true,  for  he 
had  had  no  inclination  to  dandle  the  gawky  fourteen-year- 
old  Freddy  Payton  on  knees  that  were  bent  before  the 
cruel  Kate.  He  put  a  friendly — but  shrinking — hand  on 
her  shoulder  as  she  went  with  him  to  the  front  door,  and  a 
minute  later  waved  good  night  from  his  car.  As  he  drove 
home  in  a  bothering  white  fog  from  the  lake,  he  was  very 
unhappy.  "It  hurts  more  than  I  supposed  it  could,"  he 
told  himself.  "I  don't  like  this  kind  of  'amusement!' 
Damn  it,  I  wish  she  hadn't  kissed  me." 

As  for  Frederica,  going  back  into  the  cottage,  her  eyes 
were  very  kind.  "He's  an  old  dear  to  bother  with  me; 
I'm  awfully  fond  of  him. ' '  Then  she  forgot  him.  ' '  Twenty- 
four  hours  more,"  she  was  thinking,  "and  Howard  will  be 
here!"  Twenty-four  hours  seemed  a  long  time!  She  was 
glad  when  the  moment  came  to  blow  out  the  candles  and 
look  into  the  other  room  to  say  good  night;  ("only  twenty 
hours  now!"). 

Flora,  at  the  kitchen  table,  was  listlessly  shuffling  a 
pack  of  cards  by  the  light  of  a  little  kerosene-lamp;  as 
Fred  entered,  she  dropped  her  head  in  her  hands  and 
sighed.  Frederica  sighed,  too.  "I  suppose  I've  got  to 

194 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

cheer  her  up,"  she  thought,  resignedly.  "What's  the 
matter?"  she  said,  kindly. 

"NothinV 

"Come  in  the  other  room  and  I'll  play  for  you." 

Flora  shook  a  dreary  head.  Fred,  with  a  shrug  of  im 
patience,  sat  down  at  the  other  end  of  the  table.  The  fire 
in  the  stove  was  out  and  the  kitchen  was  cold  and  damp; 
except  for  the  lisping  wash  of  the  lake  and  the  faint  fall 
of  Flora's  cards,  everything  was  very  still.  Fred  watched 
the  cards  for  a  moment  without  speaking,  then  abruptly 
brushed  them  all  aside  and  clapped  her  warm  young  hand 
on  Flora's  thin  wrist.  The  movement  made  the  lamp 
flicker,  and  on  the  opposite  wall  two  shadowy  heads 
nodded  at  each  other. 

"Now,  Flora,"  she  said,  "we'll  have  this  out!  What  is 
the  matter?" 

"I  tell  you,  Miss  Freddy,  there  ain't  nothin'  the 
matter." 

"There  is!    You're  awfully  depressed." 

"I'm  used  to  that." 

"But  why?    Come  now,  you've  got  to  tell  me!" 

Flora  dropped  her  head  on  her  arms  and  began  to  cry. 

"Flora!  Flora!  What  shall  I  do  with  you?  You  are 
so  silly!" 

The  woman  sat  up  and  wiped  her  eyes.  The  little  hys 
terical  outburst  evidently  relieved  her;  she  smiled,  though 
her  lips  still  trembled.  "I  was  tellin'  my  fortune  to  see 
what  kind  of  a  letter  I'd  git  to-morrow  mornin'  from  my 
friend  about  goin'  to  the  movies.  I  like  'em,  but  'pears 
he  ain't  stuck  on  'em.  An' — an',  I'm  bettin'  he'll  say  he 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

won't  go.  The  cards  make  out  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  no 
luck." 

" Nonsense!  You've  got  too  much  sense  to  believe  in 
cards." 

"Miss  Freddy,  Mr.  Maitland  '11  think  the  house  real 
pretty  the  way  you  fixed  up  them  leaves.  Some  of  'em 
is  as  handsome  as  if  they  was  hand-painted!" 

Fred  preserved  a  grave  face,  and  said  yes,  the  leaves 
were  lovely. 

"An'  he's  comin'  out  to-morrow  night?"  Flora  said, 
nodding  her  head.  "Well,  I  guess  you're  happy."  Her 
opaque  black  eyes  gleamed  with  unshed  tears.  Frederica, 
rising,  put  an  impulsive  arm  around  her;  Flora  suddenly 
sobbed  on  her  shoulder. 

"Is  it  because  your  beau  has  been  unkind?"  Fred  said. 
She  used  Flora's  own  vernacular. 

"I  'ain't  never  had  a  real  beau.  Oh,  well,  I  don't  care! 
I'm  glad  you  got  a  beau,  anyhow." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have,"  Fred  said,  smiling.  "But 
you'll  get  one  some  day."  Under  her  friendly  words  was 
a  good-natured  contempt — Flora  was  so  anxious  for  a 
"beau"! 

"  An' your  gentleman  11  come  out  here  to-morrow  night," 
Flora  repeated, — itwas  as  if  she  turned  the  knife  in  her  own 
wound;  "an'  you  and  him  '11  set  in  the  living-room.  And 
you'll  +alk.  And  he'll  talk.  An'  he'll  ...  kiss  you." 

"Oh,"  Fred  said,  laughing,  "Mr.  Maitland  and  I  are 
not  interested  in  that  kind  of  thing !  We  are  trying  to  give 
women  the  vote,  and  to  make  the  world  better — that's 
what  we  are  going  to  talk  about.  And,  Flora,  remember, 

196 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

you've  got  to  give  us  an  awfully  good  supper!    Come, 
now!  you're  tired.    You  really  must  go  to  bed." 

She  laid  a  gently  compelling  hand  on  the  frail  shoulder, 
and  Flora,  sighing  miserably,  took  the  lamp  from  its 
bracket  and  followed  Miss  Freddy  up-stairs  to  the  cubby- 
hoi  under  the  roof  where  she  slept. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  next  day  it  rained  and  the  little  house  was  dark 
and  damp.  Across  the  sodden  beach-grass  Fred  and 
Flora  could  see  the  fat  woman  in  the  next  bungalow 
moving  her  trunks  and  her  paralyzed  husband  back  to 
town;  when  they  had  gone,  the  owner  of  the  bungalow 
came  to  give  a  look  around  and  see  how  much  damage  his 
tenants  had  done.  Then  he  closed  the  shutters  and 
boarded  up  the  front  door.  By  noon  the  sound  of  his 
hammering  ceased,  and  the  shore,  with  its  huddle  of 
cottages,  was  entirely  deserted.  The  only  human  sign 
was  the  wisp  of  smoke  from  Fred's  chimney.  All  the 
morning  it  rained  heavily.  At  ten  o'clock  Flora  put  on 
her  things  and  walked  nearly  a  mile  to  the  post-office. 
She  came  back  soaking- wet,  and  empty-handed. 

"Didn't  he  write?"  Fred  asked,  cheerfully. 

Flora  shook  a  forlorn  head.  But  when  she  had  had  a 
cup  of  tea  there  was  a  rally  of  hope.  "Them  postmen! 
They're  always  losin'  letters.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  my 
friend's  letter  was  stickin'  in  a  mail-box,  somewheres." 

"Very  likely!"  Fred  said.  She  really  didn't  know  what 
she  said;  her  joyous  preoccupation  was  only  aware  of 
Time — "six  hours  more,  and  he'll  be  here!"  At  noon 
the  rain  ceased  and  the  fog  crept  in.  Some  yellow 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

leaves  blew  up  on  the  porch;  a  squirrel  ran  down  the 
chestnut-tree  at  the  corner  of  the  cottage,  lifted  an  alert 
tail,  looked  about,  then  ran  up  again.  After  that  every 
thing  was  still. 

The  lake  was  smothered  in  a  woolly  whiteness  that 
muffled  even  the  lapping  of  the  waves.  It  muffled  one's 
mind,  Frederica  thought.  She  wished  she  had  something 
to  do — housework  or  anything!  "I  haven't  the  brains  to 
work  on  my  article;  I'm  only  intelligent  enough  to  be 
domestic!"  But  there  was  nothing  domestic  to  be  done; 
everything  was  swept  and  garnished.  She  tried  to  read; 
she  tried  to  write;  said  "darn  it!"  to  both  book  and  pen, 
then  got  up  to  walk  about  and  stare  out  of  the  window 
into  the  wetness.  At  last,  in  desperation,  she  put  on  her 
things,  called  Zip,  and  went  out  into  the  mist  to  tramp  for 
an  hour  under  the  dripping  branches.  When  they  came 
back,  Zip  horribly  muddy,  Fred  was  as  fresh  as  a  rain- 
wet  rose,  and  full  of  the  joy  of  living.  "Only  four  hours 
now!" 

In  the  kitchen  she  wiped  Zippy's  reluctant  paws,  and 
told  Flora,  who  was  sitting  motionless,  her  hands  idle  in 
her  lap,  to  hang  her  sou'wester  up  to  dry.  "Now,  Flora, 
come  to  life !"  she  said.  "  If  you  come  into  the  living-room 
I'll  play  for  you." 

Flora  shook  her  head.  "There  ain't  no  use  listenin'  to 
music.  There  ain't  no  use  in  anything.  You  get  up  in 
the  morning  and  button  your  boots.  Well,  you  gotta  do 
it  the  next  day,"  Flora  said,  with  staring  eyes,  "an'  the 
next.  An'  the  next.  What's  the  use?  There's  no  use." 
But  after  serving  her  young  lady  with  a  somewhat  sketchy 

199 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

luncheon,  she  did  go  into  the  other  room,  and  after  help 
ing  to  start  the  dying  fire,  crouched  on  the  floor,  her  head 
against  the  piano,  and  listened  to  Fred's  friendly  drumming. 

" Trouble  with  you,"  said  Frederica,  looking  down  at 
the  crouching  figure,  "is  that  you've  nothing  to  do  that 
you  care  awfully  about  doing." 

Flora  was  silent,  and  by  and  by  Fred  forgot  her,  for, 
velvet-footed,  through  the  fog,  the  hour  when  Howard 
should  arrive  came  nearer,  and  her  own  life  grew  so  vivid 
that  the  moping  brown  woman  ceased  to  exist  for  her — 
except,  indeed,  for  momentary  pangs  of  fear  that  Flora 
would  make  some  blunder — roast  the  duck  a  minute  too 
long,  or  forget  to  put  pieces  of  orange  on  the  sizzling 
breast  just  before  serving  it! 

He  had  said  he  would  come  at  five.  But  it  was  nearly 
six  before  she  heard  the  car  panting  in  the  road.  She 
opened  the  door,  and,  holding  a  candle  above  her  head, 
told  him  he  needn't  expect  anything  so  swell  as  a  garage. 
"Just  run  her  up  under  that  big  chestnut!"  Then  she 
put  the  candle  down  on  the  porch,  and  went  out  to  help 
him  lift  the  top,  for  the  moisture  was  dripping  like  rain 
from  the  branches. 

"But  the  fog  is  clearing,"  she  said,  with  satisfaction. 
She  did  not  add  that  she  had  been  anxious  at  the  idea  of 
his  poking  back  on  the  wood  road  in  the  thick  mist.  Such 
concern  was  an  absolutely  new  sensation  to  Frederica. 
She  had  never  in  all  her  life  felt  anxious  about  anybody! 

The  top  up,  they  went  into  the  fire-lit  room,  warm  and 
fragrant  and  comfortable,  with  the  candles  burning  on  the 

200 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

mantelpiece  on  either  side  of  the  learned  books.  The  sup 
per  was  a  great  success.  Flora  had  "come  to  life,"  and 
the  duck  was  perfect ;  indeed,  she  even  brightened,  for  an 
instant,  under  Mr.  Maitland's  appreciation:  "Flora,  I 
take  off  my  hat  to  that  duck.  You  are  a  bully  cook !" 

"  She  is !"  Fred  said,  heartily.  But  Flora's  face  gloomed 
again. 

"Bully!"  Howard  repeated.  His  vocabulary  was  never 
very  large,  and  hunger  made  it  smaller  than  usual.  He 
was,  however,  able  to  tell  Fred  that  he  had  missed  Laura 
in  Philadelphia. 

"Strikes  me  she's  gadding  about  a  good  deal;  she's 
gone  to  Boston.  What's  the  clue?" 

"Just  a  good  time.  Lolly  is  rather  young  still,  you 
know,"  Fred  excused  her.  Howard  made  no  comment, 
and  she  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  he  did  not 
appreciate  Laura.  "I  pretty  nearly  went  with  her,  my 
self!"  she  declared,  boldly.  She  wasn't  going  to  have  even 
Howard  think  Laura  was  frivolous!  "She's  the  sweetest 
thing  going,"  she  said. 

"You  bet  she  is,"  Howard  agreed,-  and  began  to  talk 
about  shells. 

When  they  had  finished  the  last  scrap  of  dessert,  the 
young  man  put  what  was  left  of  his  beer  on  the  mantel 
piece,  and,  his  pipe  drawing  well,  stood  up  with  his  back 
to  the  fire,  and  told  her  about  the  pearl  he  had  found. 

"I  want  to  show  it  to  you,"  he  said;   and,  digging  it 

up  out  of  his  pocket,  dropped  it  into  her  extended  hand. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  it  set  in  a — a  ring,"  he  explained,  as  it 

lay,  round  and  shimmering,  in  Fred's  palm.    "Of  course, 

*4  201 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

I  could  buy  a  bigger  one,  and  more  perfect.  But  there's  a 
kind  of  association  in  a  pearl  you  pick  up  yourself — don't 
you  think?" 

"Of  course  there  is!" 

"Put  it  there,  on  your  finger,  and  let's  see  how  it  looks," 
he  said,  his  head  on  one  side,  his  eyes  anxious.  She  bal 
anced  it  as  well  as  she  could  on  the  back  of  her  hand,  then 
returned  it  to  him  hurriedly.  "Pretty  good?"  he  said. 

"Fine !"  she  assured  him.  Then,  resolutely,  changed  the 
subject;  there  must  be  no  talk  about  rings — yet! 

Howard,  a  little  disappointed  at  her  indifference,  put 
the  pearl,  in  its  wisp  of  tissue-paper,  into  his  pocket,  and 
listened  to  the  outpouring  of  her  plans  for  the  winter  work 
of  the  league.  In  the  midst  of  it,  he  kicked  the  logs  to 
gether  in  the  fireplace,  and,  sitting  down,  smoked  com 
fortably.  Once  he  said  that  one  of  her  arguments  was 
bully,  and  once  he  called  her  attention  to  the  way  the 
sparks  marched  and  countermarched  in  the  soot  on  the 
chimney  back;  "I  used  to  call  'em  'soldiers'  when  I  was 
a  kid." 

"I  meant  to  read  you  my  paper,"  Fred  was  saying, 
"but  I  guess  it  will  keep.  Let's  talk.  Howard,  Laura 
and  I  are  going  to  get  all  the  girls  we  know  to  take  a  stand 
— this  is  a  pretty  serious  thing ! — against  playing  around 
with  men  we  know  are  dissipated.  The  idea  grew  out  of 
this  bill  we're  trying  to  get  before  the  Legislature." 

"Good  work!"  he  said,  lazily,  and  leaned  forward  to 
knock  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  Zip  yawned  and  curled 
up  on  the  skirt  of  Freddy's  dress.  It  was  a  warm,  domestic 
scene,  full  of  peaceful  certainties. 

202 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"You  see,"  she  said,  " women  are  facing  facts,  nowa 
days.  They  believe  in  freedom,  but  they  believe  most  of 
all  in  Truth.  There'll  be  no  more  hiding  behind  a  lot  of 
conventions!  That  is  what  has  held  us  back.  We  have 
as  much  right  to  say  what  we — feel,  as  men.  Don't  you 
think  so?"  Her  voice  was  a  little  breathless. 

Howard,  looking  dreamily  at  the  "soldiers,"  said,  ab 
sently,  "You  bet  you  have!" 

"I  want  to  tell  you  just  what  we're  up  to  about  turn 
ing  down  the  rotten  fellows,"  Fred  said.  "I  want  to  talk 
it  out  with  you  and  get  your  advice.  But  not  now,  be 
cause — because  there  are  other  things  I  want  to  say.  But 
sometime." 

"Any  time!  I've  just  been  laying  for  a  jaw  with  you, 
Fred.  I  don't  know  any  other  woman  I  can  talk  to  just 
as  I  can  to  a  man!" 

At  that,  she  couldn't  help  a  little  proud  movement  of 
her  head,  and  to  hide  her  pride  she  stooped  down  and 
stroked  Zippy;  as  she  did  so  the  firelight  fell  on  her  face, 
smiling,  and  quivering  a  little.  Her  good  gray  eyes 
brimmed  with  joy.  "Yes,  we  are  pretty  good  friends," 
she  said. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "you  understand!  Why,  those  let 
ters  of  yours — I  can't  tell  you  what  they  meant  to  me!" 
He  paused  and  laughed:  "That  reminds  me.  I  told 
Leighton — you  know  the  man  I  wrote  to  you  about?" 

"The  anti  man?" 

"Yes;   Tommy  Leighton—" 

"I'll  send  him  a  bunch  of  literature — if  he  has  any  kind 
of  mind?" 

203 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

1 '  Oh,  well ;  so-so.  He's  an  anti,  so  what  can  you  expect  ? 
I  told  him  that  you  had  the  finest  mind  of  any  woman  I 
had  ever  met.  I  told  him  that  mighty  few  men  could 
talk  back  to  you — "  He  paused  to  fumble  about  in  his 
pocket  for  his  tobacco-pouch.  "Laura  gave  me  that,"  he 
interpolated ;  ' '  Leighton  said — ' ' 

She  leaned  forward  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm;  the 
suddenness  of  her  grip  made  him  drop  the  little  pouch, 
and  as  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  she  said: 

4 'I've  missed  you — awfully." 

He  did  not  see  that  she  was  trembling.  He  put  the 
pouch  in  his  pocket  and  retorted,  gaily: 

"I  bet  you  haven't  missed  me  as  much  as  I've  missed 
you!" 

"I've  missed  you,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "more!" 

Howard  Maitland  stopped  midway  in  a  breath.  But 
instantly  the  thought  that  leaped  into  his  mind  vanished 
in  shame.  He  actually  blushed  with  consternation  at  his 
own  caddishness.  He  tried  to  say,  again,  something  about 
her  letters — but  she  was  not  listening;  she  was  saying, 
calmly: 

"You  see — I  love  you." 

He  was  dumb.  His  brain  whirled.  He  said  to  himself 
that  he  hadn't  understood  her — of  course  he  hadn't  under 
stood  her!  What  had  she  said?  Good  Lord!  what  had 
she  said?  Of  course  she  didn't  mean — what  you  might 
think!  She  only  meant — friendship.  If  he  let  her  know 
what,  for  just  one  gasping  moment  he  had  thought  she 
meant,  somebody  ought  to  kick  him!  But  the  shock  of 
her  words  brought  him  to  his  feet.  She  rose,  too,  and 

204 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

stood  smiling  at  him.  "Of  course,"  he  began,  "we  are — 
you  are — I  mean,  I  don't  know  what  I  would  have  done 
without  your  let — " 

"  I  love  you,"  she  said.  She  held  out  both  her  hands — 
"will  you  marry  me,  Howard?" 

He  had  it,  then,  between  the  eyes.  His  boyish  stum 
bling  ceased.  He  caught  her  hands  in  his. 

"Fred,"  he  began — a  door  banged  in  the  kitchen  and 
they  both  started,  "Fred,"  he  said,  again — his  throat  was 
dry,  and  he  stopped  to  swallow.  Instinctively  she  was 
drawing  away  from  him;  the  smiling  offer  was  still  in 
her  eyes,  but  a  frightened  look  lay  behind  it.  He  did  not 
try  to  hold  the  withdrawing  hands. 

"Fred,  I  care  for  you  so  much — "  He  was  white  with 
pain.  Frederica  was  silent.  "I  care  for  you  so  terribly, 
I — I  have  to  be — straight.  I  never  thought — "  She 
made  a  gesture,  and  he  stopped. 

"It's  all  right.     I  understand.     You  needn't  go  on." 

"Fred!  Look  here — I  care  for  you  more  than  I  can 
tell  you.  You  are — you  are  simply  stunning;  but — " 

She  laughed:  "Cut  it  out,  Howard;  cut  it  out!  I 
understand." 

"You  don't!"  he  said,  greatly  agitated;  "you  can't 
understand  how — how  I  appreciate — I  shall  never  for 
get—" 

She  motioned  him  back  to  his  chair,  and  dropped  into 
her  own.  "You  needn't  worry  about  me.  I've  made  a 
mistake,  that's  all.  Many  a  man  has  done  the  same  thing 
and  lived  through  it.  I  assure  you  I  sha'n't  pine!" 

She  was  very  pale,  but  smiling  finely.    He  sat  down.1 

205 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

His  confusion  was  agonizing.  He  was  trying  to  think 
how  he  could  tell  her  what  she  meant  to  him;  how  he 
respected,  admired — yes,  loved  her!  Only  not — not  just 
in  the  way  she  meant.  He  tried  to  say  this,  then  stopped, 
realizing,  dazed  as  he  was,  that  his  explanations  only  made 
things  worse. 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  friendship  of  a  woman  as  noble 
as  you  are!" 

"Oh,  nonsense!    Let's  talk  of  important  things." 

"No,  but  listen,"  he  entreated,  with  emotion.  "You 
won't  turn  me  down?  You're  the  best  friend  I  have — we 
won't  stop  being  friends?" 

"You'll  'be  a  brother  to  me'?"  she  quoted;  it  was  her 
only  bitter  word;  and  she  covered  it  with  a  laugh. 
"'Course  we  are  pals,  always!  Howard,  I  want  to  tell 
you  what  I  accomplished  here  this  summer.  And  oh,  by 
the  way,  did  you  give  *  Aunty  Leighton '  the  pamphlet  on 
the  New  Zealand  situation?"  She  pulled  Zip  up  on  her 
lap,  and  teased  him,  kissing  him  between  his  eyes,  and 
squeezing  his  little  nose  in  her  hand. 

Howard  said,  as  casually  as  his  breath  permitted,  that 
Tommy  Leighton  was  a  fine  chap — "but  no  mind,  you 
know.  One  of  those  people  you  can't  argue  with  on  any 
really  serious  subject  like  suffrage.  Opinions  all  run  into 
molds.  Can't  bend  'em."  Now  that  he  had  got  started 
talking,  he  couldn't  stop;  he  talked  faster  and  faster;  he 
told  her  everything  he  had  ever  heard  or  surmised  about 
Mr.  Leighton;  "his  ideas  belong  to  the  dark  ages — " 

"Believes  in  sex  slavery,  I  suppose?"  Fred  interposed. 

"Exactly!  I — I  guess  I'd  better  be  getting  along,"  he 

206 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

said,  with  a  sort  of  gasp.  Her  instant  acquiescence,  in 
springing  to  her  feet,  was  at  once  a  relief  and  a  stab. 

"Would  you  mind,"  she  said,  easily,  "putting  a  basket 
into  your  tonneau  and  leaving  it  at  our  house?  Flora  and 
I  will  have  such  a  lot  of  things  to  carry  in  town  to 
morrow." 

As  she  spoke,  she  was  listening  with  satisfaction  to  her 
own  voice — calm,  matter-of-fact,  friendly. 

He  said  he  would  be  delighted  to  take  the  basket — "or 
anything  else!  Load  me  up,  and  I'll  deliver  the  goods  in 
Payton  Street  to-night!" 

"Oh,  no;  it's  too  late,"  she  said,  laughing;  "but  if 
you'll  take  it  around  in  the  morning — " 

"Of  course  I  will;  delighted!" 

"I'll  tell  Flora  to  take  it  out  to  the  car,"  she  said;  and 
went  into  the  kitchen:  "Flo — "  she  began,  and  stopped. 
The  kitchen  was  empty.  "Flora!"  she  called,  looking  at 
the  unwashed  dishes  in  the  sink,  and  at  Flora's  untasted 
supper  set  out  on  the  kitchen  table  in  the  midst  of  a 
clutter  of  cards.  She  said  a  single  distracted  word  under 
her  breath;  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  called  up 
to  the  little  cell  under  the  eaves.  .  .  .  No  answer.  She 
ran  up  and  looked  into  each  room.  .  .  .  No  Flora. 

"She  seems  to  have  vanished,"  she  said,  coming  into 
the  living-room  with  a  puzzled  look.  "She  isn't  in  the 
house.  Do  you  suppose  she  can  be  wandering  about  in 
the  woods  at  this  time  of  the  night?"  In  her  own  mind, 
frantic  at  Howard's  delayed  departure,  she  was  saying  to 
herself:  "I'll  die  if  I  don't  get  rid  of  him!  I  could  kill 
Flora!"  She  sat  down  again  by  the  fire,  and  said  that 

207 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

she  was  bothered  about  Zippy 's  eyes;  that  made  a  mo 
mentary  diversion.  Howard  examined  the  little  dog's 
eyes  and  said  they  were  all  right ;  then  made  desultory  re 
marks  about  dogs  in  China.  He  was  trying,  wildly,  to  find 
something — anything! — to  say.  Both  were  listening  in 
tently  for  Flora's  step.  "I'll  see  if  I  can  find  her  now," 
Frederica  said. 

He  followed  her  into  the  empty  kitchen.  ' '  Bird  flown  ?" 
he  said.  He,  too,  was  pleased  to  find  he  could  speak  so 
casually.  Frederica  opened  the  back  door  and  strained 
her  eyes  into  the  mist. 

"It's  awfully  funny,"  she  said;  "why  should  she  go 
out  into  the  fog?  Flora!1'  she  called  loudly — and  they 
held  their  breaths  for  an  answering  voice.  But  there  was 
only  the  muffled  lapping  of  the  waves  and  an  occasional 
drop  falling  from  the  big  tree.  They  went  back  to  the 
living-room,  and  looked  at  each  other,  blankly. 

"Can  she  have  started  to  walk  into  town?"  he  asked. 

"Thirty  miles?  Howard,  I  am  sort  of  worried  about 
her!  Do  you  remember?  the  door  slammed,  and — "  she 
stopped  short,  remembering  just  when  she  had  heard  that 
slamming  door.  "  Do  you  think  she  can  have  been  ill,  and 
gone  out  to  one  of  the  other  houses  for  help?  No,"  she 
corrected  herself.  "She  knows  every  house  in  Lakeville 
is  closed!" 

Again  she  ran  up-stairs,  calling  and  looking;  then  they 
both  went  out  on  the  back  porch,  and  called. 

Again  the  lake  answered  them,  lapping — lapping. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

can't  stay  here  by  yourself,"  he  said. 
"I  can't  go  back  to  town  and  leave  Flora  here  by 
herself.     We've  got  to  find  her!" 

He  nodded;  they  were  both  of  them  entirely  at  ease. 
That  tense  consciousness  of  a  few  minutes  before  had  dis 
appeared. 

"I'm  worried,"  Fred  said,  again;  "she  was  awfully  low- 
spirited  because — because  somebody  hadn't  written  to 
her." 

"Oh,  she's  all  right.    She'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

"But  where  has  she  gone?" 

"Perhaps  she  walked  into  Laketon." 

"  What  for  ?  Besides,  it's  nearly  five  miles !"  They  were 
standing  in  the  kitchen  doorway;  Zip  pushed  past  them 
and  went  out  into  the  mist ;  smelled  about,  stretching  first 
his  front  legs,  then  his  hind  legs.  The  motor  loomed  like 
a  black  monster  under  the  tree.  Zip  gave  a  bored  look  at 
the  lingering  guest. 

"Flor-a-a!" 

No  answer;  just  the  lake,  sighing  and  rippling  in  the 
sedge. 

"Could  she  have  gone  down  to  the  water?"  Howard 

209 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

said;  "have  you  got  such  a  thing  as  a  lantern?  I'll  go 
out  and  look." 

"No;  but  light  that  lamp  on  the  center-table— a 
candle  might  blow  out." 

He  went  into  the  other  room,  and  she  heard  him 
scratch  a  match  and  fumble  with  the  lamp-chimney.  In 
that  minute,  alone,  listening  all  the  while  for  Flora's  re 
turning  step,  her  mind  leaped  back  to  that  moment  in 
front  of  the  fire.  His  look — astounded,  incredulous, 
shocked — was  burned  into  her  memory;  his  distressed 
words  rung  in  her  ears.  She  was  not  conscious  of  any 
pain  because  he  did  not  love  her.  She  was  simply  stunned 
by  the  jolt  of  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  stepping  down 
into  the  old,  irrational  modesties.  .  .  . 

Her  face  began  to  scorch.  She  went  out  on  the  porch 
and  called  again,  mechanically;  some  water  dripping  from 
the  eaves  on  her  bare  head  ran  down  one  blazing  cheek; 
the  coolness  gave  her  an  acute  sense  of  relief  that  struggled 
through  the  medley  of  tearing  emotions;  she  was  saying 
to  herself:  "Where  can  she  be?  She  hasn't  washed  the 
dishes !  (He  refused  me.)" 

Howard,  holding  the  lamp  over  his  head,  came  up  be 
hind  her  and  went  down  the  steps  into  the  mist.  Fred 
followed  him,  Zip  lumbering  along  at  her  heels. 

"She  must  have  left  the  house  this  way;  we  know 
that,"  she  said. 

"Come  down  to  the  beach,"  he  said. 

"Yes;  sometimes  she  used  to  sit  on  that  big  rock," 
Frederica  remembered. 

He  walked  ahead  of  her;  the  light,  shining  through  the 

210 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

solferino  lamp-shade,  made  a  rosy  nimbus  about  his  bare 
head,  but  scarcely  penetrated  the  fog.  They  went  thus, 
all  three,  single  file,  along  the  path  to  the  rickety  wooden 
pier;  at  the  end  of  it,  they  stood  staring  out  into  the 
mist.  Twice  he  called,  loudly,  "Flora!"  .  .  . 

"Not  a  sound!"  he  said.  "Is  there  any  possible  place 
in  the  house  where  she  could  have  hidden  herself  ?  I  mean, 
gone  to  sleep,  or  anything?" 

"Not  a  place!  I've  looked  everywhere.  (He  refused 
me.)" 

They  turned  silently  to  go  back.  Just  as  they  reached 
the  path  again  Howard  stopped  —  so  abruptly  that  the 
lamp  sent  a  jarring  gleam  into  the  white  darkness. 


She  looked  where  he  was  looking,  and  caught  her  breath. 

"No!"  she  said;  "oh,  no—  no!    It  can't  be!" 

"Hold  the  lamp.     I'll  go  and  see—" 

He  climbed  down  the  little  bluff  and  waded  into  the 
sedge.  The  swaying  mass  that  had  looked  like  a  stone 
until  a  larger  wave  stirred  it,  came  in  nearer  the  shore, 
caught  on  the  shoaling  beach,  rolled,  and  was  still.  Fred- 
erica  saw  him  bend  over  it,  then  try,  frantically,  to  lift  it 
in  his  arms.  She  put  the  lamp  on  the  wharf.  ("Don't 
touch  it,  Zip  !")  ,  slid,  catching  at  tufts  of  grass,  and  bending 
branches  —  down  the  crumbling  bank,  plunged  into  the 
water  up  to  her  knees,  and  together,  half  pulling,  half 
carrying  that  sodden  bundle,  they  stumbled  over  the  oozy 
bottom  and  through  the  sedges.  The  lifting  it  up  the 
bluff  was  terrible;  the  dripping  figure,  sagging  and  bend 
ing,  was  so  heavy! 

211 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"We  must  get  her  into  the  house,"  Frederica  panted. 
And,  somehow  or  other,  they  did  it,  Howard  taking  the 
shoulders,  and  Fred  the  feet.  They  were  gasping  with  the 
strain  of  it  when  they  laid  her  on  the  floor  of  the  living- 
room. 

4 'Is  she  dead?"  he  said. 

Frederica  thrust  her  hand  into  the  bosom  of  Flora's 
dress — and  held  her  breath. 

"I  can't  tell;  we  mustn't  stop  to  find  out!  You  know 
what  to  do?  Pull  her  arms  up,  this  way!" 

They  stood  over  her,  Howard  following  Fred's  short, 
sharp  directions,  and,  even  in  the  horror  of  the  moment, 
conscious  of  a  wondering  admiration  at  her  efficiency. 
But  no  quiver  of  life  came  into  the  still  face. 

"We  ought  to  get  a  doctor!"  Fred  said,  at  last,  panting. 

4 'I'll  go  instantly!" 

"No,  the  quickest  way  will  be  to  take  her  to  a  doctor, 
not  bring  a  doctor  to  her!" 

"But  if  she  is  dead  we  ought  not  to  move  her!  That's 
the  law." 

"Law?  I  don't  care  anything  about  the  law!  Life  is 
what  I'm  thinking  of!  We  don't  know  whether  she's 
dead  or  not.  Crank  your  car!  I'll  get  some  blankets — " 

He  hurried  out,  and  she  rushed  up-stairs  for  blankets. 
She  was  folding  them  about  Flora  when  he  came  in, 
the  car  chugging  loudly  at  the  door.  Again,  lifting  and 
straining,  they  carried  her  out,  and  got  her  into  the  ton- 
neau.  Then  Frederica  saw  the  lamp  down  on  the  wharf, 
burning  steadily  in  the  mist. 

"Put  it  out!    Put  it  out!    Hurry!"  she  commanded; 

212 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

and  while  he  ran  to  do  it  she  darted  back  to  blow  out  the 
candles  in  the  living-room  and  snap  the  lock  of  the  front 
door — "  never  mind  about  taking  the  lamp  into  the  house. 
Leave  it  on  the  porch!"  she  said.  Then  she  got  in  the 
car  and,  sitting  down,  put  an  arm  about  the  crumpling, 
sodden  form.  Zip,  fearful  of  being  left,  jumped  on  the 
front  seat,  and  glanced  wonderingly  back  at  his  mistress. 

"Fred,"  Howard  said,  agitatedly, "  I  think  she's— dead." 

"So  do  I;  but  hurry!  Don't  lose  a  minute!"  Then, 
through  the  noise  of  the  clutch,  she  screamed  at  him: 
"  Doctor  Emma  Holt !  In  Laketon !' '  And  the  car  jerked 
forward. 

"But  that's  a  woman  doctor,"  he  called,  over  his 
shoulder. 

Just  for  a  moment  the  habit  of  revolt  asserted  itself: 
"Why  not?"  Then,  "Hurry!  Hurry!" 

Dr.  Emma  Holt  was  five  miles  away.  "  I  felt,"  Howard 
Maitland  used  to  say,  afterward,  "as  if  she  were  fifty 
miles  away!" 

The  fog  was  so  thick  it  was  impossible  to  speed  with 
safety,  so  they  sped  without  it,  and  tore  bumping  along 
through  the  white  smother.  Twice  he  looked  around,  and 
saw  Fred  sitting  there,  rigid,  with  that  face,  open-mouthed, 
open-eyed,  gray  under  its  brown  skin,  wabbling,  and  drip 
ping  on  her  shoulder. 

"She  is  magnificent!"  he  thought.    "7  couldn't  do  it." 

The  second  time  he  looked,  some  reflection  from  the 
lamps,  gleaming  in  the  fog,  flickered  on  that  set  face,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  eyes  closed,  then  opened  again.  The 
horror  of  it  made  his  hand  jerk  on  the  wheel,  and  there 

213 

V 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

was  a  skid  out  of  the  ruts  that  frightened  him  into  care 
fulness. 

When  he  sprang  out  at  the  house  of  the  "woman  doc 
tor,"  he  dared  not  glance  back  into  the  tonneau.  Ham 
mering  on  the  panels  of  the  door,  and  keeping  his  thumb 
on  the  bell,  he  called  up  to  an  opening  window  on  the 
second  floor: 

"Doctor!   Hurry!   A  woman  has  got  drowned !  Hurry!" 

"Where  is  she?"  came  a  laconic  voice  from  the  window. 

"Here!     In  my  car!     Hurry!" 

The  window  slammed  down;  a  minute  later  the  electric 
lights  were  snapped  on  in  the  sleeping  house,  and  hurrying 
feet  came  along  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XX 

F  course,"  Dr.  Holt  said,  when  it  was  plain  that 
nothing  more  could  be  done,  "you  ought  to  have 
left  her  where  she  was." 

"But  we  didn't  know  whether  she  was  alive — "  they  ex 
cused  themselves. 

"Was  there  anything  the  matter  with  her?"  the  doctor 
said;  she  was  beginning  to  think  of  the  certificate  she 
must  make  out.  "Was  she  low-spirited?" 

"She  was  dreadfully  disappointed  because  she  didn't 
get  a  letter  she  was  expecting." 

"Love-letter?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Frederica  said. 

She  and  Howard  had  left  the  office,  where  the  dead 
woman  lay  on  the  doctor's  lounge,  and  were  standing  in 
the  front  hall,  side  by  side,  like  two  children  who  were 
being  scolded.  From  above  the  hat-rack,  a  mounted 
stag's  head  watched  them  with  faintly  gleaming  eyes. 
Dr.  Holt,  a  woman  with  a  strong,  bad-tempered  face, 
was  plainly  out  of  patience  with  them  both. 

"I've  got  to  get  the  coroner,"  she  said,  frowning;  "and 
it's  nearly  twelve  o'clock."  Then  she  asked  a  question 
that  was  like  a  little  shock  of  electricity  to  the  two  who, 
in  this  last  terrifying  hour,  had  entirely  forgotten  them 
selves.  "Did  she  have  any  love-affair?" 

215 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Yes,"  Frederica  said,  in  a  low  voice.  ("He  refused 
me.") 

"Tell  me,  please,"  Dr.  Holt  persisted. 

"She  was — in  love." 

"I  suppose  she  was  all  right?    I  mean,  respectable?" 

"Flora?"  Fred  said,  with  a  recoil  of  anger,  "of  course 
she  was  respectable." 

"That's  what  I  thought.  Man  desert  her?  You  spoke 
of  a  letter — perhaps  she  was  hoping  to  hear  from  him?" 

"No,  he  didn't  exactly  desert  her.  I  mean,  she  thought 
somebody  was  in  love  with  her,  several  times.  But  none 
of  the  men  seemed — "  Frederica's  hands  clutched  to 
gether — "to  want  her.  So  she  was  unhappy." 

"Oh,"  said  the  doctor.  "Yes.  I  understand.  Quite 
frequent  in  women  of  her  age.  She  would  have  been  all 
right  if  she  hadn't  been — respectable;  or  even  if  she'd  got 
religion,  good  and  hard.  Religion,"  said  Dr.  Holt,  writing 
rapidly  in  a  memorandum-book,  "is  a  safety-valve  for  the 
unmarried  woman  in  the  forties,  whose  work  doesn't  in 
terest  her." 

"Flora  was  as  good  as  anybody  could  be!"  Fred  said, 
hotly. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  any  reflection  on  her  character," 
said  the  doctor,  kindly,  "I  merely  meant  that  any  woman 
who  hasn't  either  work,  or  religion,  or  marriage,  generally 
gets  out  of  kilter,  mentally.  Of  course,"  she  meditated, 
tapping  her  chin  with  her  fountain-pen,  "you  two  must 
go  to  the  coroner's  with  me." 

In  the  next  hour  and  a  half,  of  driving  about  to  find  the 
coroner,  then  the  undertaker,  then  arranging  what  was 

216 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

to  be  done  with  the  body,  the  "two"  had  no  time  for  the 
self-consciousness  that  the  doctor's  words  had  rekindled 
— except  for  just  one  moment:  they  had  come  back  to 
Dr.  Holt's  house,  and  again  were  standing  in  the  entry, 
below  the  deer's  head.  In  the  office,  the  coroner  was  ques 
tioning  Dr.  Holt.  The  office  door  was  ajar. 

"This  man,  Maitland;  do  you  know  anything  about 
him?  Is  he  all  right?  Of  course,  you  never  can  tell — " 

At  that,  they  couldn't  help  looking  at  each  other,  with 
a  flash  of  what  might  have  been,  under  other  conditions, 
amusement. 

"Why,  he's  Howard  Maitland!"  they  heard  Dr.  Holt 
say;  "you  know?  The  Maitland  Iron  Works!" 

"Oh!"  the  coroner  apologized,  "I  didn't  get  on  to  that! 
'Course  he's  all  right." 

Then  Dr.  Holt:  "It  appears  the  poor  woman  tried 
to  get  married,  but  she  couldn't  find  a  husband.  So  she 
killed  herself." 

This  time  the  two  in  the  hall  did  not  look  at  each  other. 
Fred  stared  up  at  the  stag's  glistening  eyes.  Howard 
buckled  and  unbuckled  his  driving-gauntlets.  For  the 
rest  of  her  life,  Frederica  never  saw  a  mounted  deer's 
head  without  a  stab  of  remembrance. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  every 
thing  was  attended  to  and  Howard  turned  his  car  home 
ward.  "Do  sit  in  front  with  me,  Fred,"  he  said;  "you 
can't  sit  back  there  in  the  tonneau." 

"All  right,"  she  said,  absently,  and,  getting  in,  pulled 
Zippy  on  to  her  lap.  As  she  sat  down,  she  suddenly 
realized  that  Howard's  request  implied  that  he  felt  an  em- 
15  217 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

barrassment  for  her  which  she  was  not  feeling  for  herself. 
She  began  to  feel  it  soon  enough !  Embarrassment  flowed 
in  upon  them  both.  Howard  talked  about  Flora — then 
fell  silent:  ("She  'tried  to  get  married'!")  Then  Fred 
talked  about  her — and  fell  silent.  ("He  needn't  worry;  I 
won't  drown  myself!") 

The  ride  into  town  was  forever!  The  bleary  October 
dawn  had  whitened  in  the  mist  like  a  dead  face,  before 
they  drew  up  at  15  Payton  Street,  and  for  the  last  ten 
miles  they  did  not  exchange  a  word.  Fred  was  thinking, 
dazedly,  of  Flora;  but  every  now  and  then  would  come 
the  stab:  ''He  refused  me." 

Howard  was  thinking  only  of  Fred.  "Stunning!"  he 
was  saying  to  himself.  "She's  not  a  girl !  She's  a  man — 
no,  I  don't  know  any  man  who  would  have  done  what  she 
did.  /  couldn't  have,  anyway.  I  take  off  my  hat  to 
courage  like  that!" 

Not  a  girl?    Fred,  not  a  girl?  .  .  . 

When  at  last  that  dreadful  night  was  over,  and  he  had 
left  the  terrified  Payton  household,  Frederica — the  wonder 
ful,  the  superwoman  (superman,  even,  compared  with 
Howard  himself !) ,  Frederica  had,  in  a  flash,  been  something 
less  than  superwoman;  she  had  been  pitifully,  stupidly, 
incredibly  feminine. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  he  closed  Mrs. 
Payton's  front  door  behind  him  and  went  out  to  get  in 
his  car — giving  a  shuddering  glance  at  that  pool  of  water 
on  the  floor  of  the  tonneau.  Just  as  he  was  throwing  in 
his  clutch  he  heard  the  door  open  again,  and  Fred  called 

218 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

to  him.  He  went  back,  quickly;  she  was  standing  on  the 
top  step,  haggard,  ugly,  dripping  wet;  a  lock  of  hair 
had  blown  across  her  cheek,  which  was  twitching  pain 
fully.  She  put  out  her  hand  to  him,  in  a  blind  sort  of 
gesture,  but  she  did  not  look  at  him. 

"I  just  wanted — to  say,"  she  said,  and  paused,  for  the 
jangle  of  the  mules'  bells  and  the  clatter  of  a  passing  car 
drowned  her  voice; — "I  wanted  to — to  say,"  she  began 
again,  with  a  gasp,  "  don't — "  she  stopped,  with  a  sobbing 
laugh;  "don't— tell  Laura." 

Don't  tell! 

Oh,  she  was  a  girl  all  right ! — so  Howard's  thoughts  ran 
as  he  drove  home  in  the  mist  that  had  thickened  into  rain ; 
Fred  was  a  girl — a  trembling,  ignorant,  frightened  femi 
nine  creature !  Suppose  she  did  support  a  dead  woman  in 
her  arms  during  that  dreadful  ride  in  the  fog ;  suppose  she 
did  stand  by,  promptly  obedient  to  the  doctor's  orders  in 
that  frantic  time  of  endeavor  in  the  office;  suppose  she 
had  decided,  quietly  and  wisely,  exactly  what  was  to  be 
done,  when  it  was  plain  that  Flora's  poor,  melancholy 
little  life  had  flown;  suppose  the  coroner  did  say  that  he 
had  never  seen  such  nerve;  suppose  all  those  things — yet 
she  had  said  those  two  pitiful  words:  "Don't  tell."  Yes, 
Fred  Pay  ton  was  a  "girl"! 

"You  can  talk  all  you  want  to  about  the  '  new  woman,' " 
Howard  said,  "I  guess  human  nature  doesn't  change 
much.  .  .  ." 

It  changes  so  Mttle,  that  at  that  revealing  instant  on 
the  Paytons'  front  steps,  with  the  light  of  the  Egyptian 

219 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

maid's  globe  streaming  out  into  the  rain,  he  had  wanted 
to  put  his  arms  around  Freddy  and  kiss  her !  Who  knows 
but  what,  if  there  had  not  been  all  those  weeks  of  rocking 
about  on  the  mud  flats,  listening  to  the  eternal  dry  rustle 
of  the  blowing  palms,  dredging  for  shells,  and  bothering 
about  Jack  McKnight,  he  might  not,  then  and  there,  in 
spite  of  the  wonderfulness  of  her,  and  because  of  the  weak 
ness  of  her,  have  fallen  in  love  with  old  Freddy?  As  it 
was,  when  she  said  that  piteous,  feminine  thing,  the  tears 
had  stung  in  his  eyes;  he  wrung  her  hand,  stammering  out: 
"Never!  Why,  I — you — "  But  the  door  closed  in  his 
face,  and  he  went  back  to  climb  into  his  motor  and  go 
off  to  his  own  house. 

That  was  at  six  o'clock;  it  was  nine  before  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Childs — summoned,  to  Billy-boy's  great  annoyance, 
while  he  was  shaving — reached  No.  15.  They  found  Mrs. 
Holmes  there  ahead  of  them,  and  met  Mr.  Weston  on  the 
door-step. 

In  the  parlor,  watched  by  Andy  Payton's  sightless  eyes, 
the  court  sat  upon  Freddy — for,  of  course,  the  whole  dis 
tressing  affair  was  her  fault — she  had  dragged  poor,  crazy 
Flora  out  to  that  shocking  camp!  "I  said  last  spring  it 
was  perfec'  nonsense,"  Mr.  Childs  vociferated — "a  girl, 
renting  a  bungalow!  Why  did  you  allow  it,  Ellen?" 

"My  dear  William!  I  was  perfectly  helpless.  Girls  do 
anything  nowadays.  When  I  was  a  young  lady — " 

"My  girl  doesn't  do  'anything,'"  Laura's  father  said; 
"as  for  Freddy,  the  newspapers  will  ring  with  it!  Pleas 
ant  for  me.  My  niece,  alone  with  that  Maitland  fellow ! 
I've  always  distrusted  him.  Going  off  to  dig  shells — a 

220 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

man  with  his  income!  That  showed  there's  something- 
queer  about  him.  And  Fred  alone  with  him  in  that 
bungalow  mixed  up  with  a  murder!" 

Mrs.  Holmes  screamed. 

"Well,  suicide.  Same  thing.  It  will  all  come  out," 
said  Billy-boy,  standing  up  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and 
puffing;  "Bessie  is  really  sick  at  the  scandal." 

"Oh,  now,  Father,  I—" 

"He's  got  to  marry  her,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes. 

"She  helped  Mr.  Maitland  carry  Flora  out  of  the 
water,"  Mrs.  Pay  ton  was  explaining;  "he  told  me  about 
it.  He  said  she  was  very  brave,  but  I  know  she  got  her 
feet  wet;  and  I  always  tell  her  there's  no  surer  way  to 
take  cold  than  to  get  your  feet  wet.  And  poor  Floral 
She  hasn't  any  relations,  as  far  as  I  can  find  out;  so 
whom  can  I  notify?  When  I  went  to  housekeeping, 
servants  always  came  from  somewhere,  and  if  they  got 
sick  you  knew  where  to  send  them.  I  don't  want  to 
be  unkind,  but,  really,  it  was  very  inconsiderate  in  Flora. 
I  suppose  she  never  thought  how  hard  it  would  be  for 
Freddy—" 

"Where  is  Fred,  at  this  moment?"  Mr.  Weston  inter 
rupted. 

"Well,  she  means  to  be  kind,  I'm  sure,"  Mrs.  Payton 
said,  "but  I  do  wish  she  wasn't  so  extreme!  She  has 
actually  gone  to  the  undertaking  place — you  know  they 
sent  Flora  in  this  morning  to  Colby's — with  some  roces. 
American  Beauties,  and  you  know  how  much  they  cost 
at  this  season !  She  wanted  to  put  them  on  the  coffin  her 
self,  and—" 

221 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Oh,  do  stop  talking  about  such  unpleasant  things!" 
Mrs.  Holmes  said. 

"Well,  I  merely  meant  that  it  is  unnecessary.  As  I 
say,  Flora  has  no  relatives,  so  no  one  will  ever  know  of 
the  attention.  It's  just  another  wild  thing  for  Freddy 
to  do." 

"Possibly  Flora  will  know  it,"  Mr.  Weston  said;  "at 
least,  wouldn't  the  Reverend  Tait  say  so?" 

"Oh,"  Mrs.  Holmes  said,  frowning,  "  we  are  not  speak 
ing  of  religion.  Flora  was  just  a  servant."  Even  Mr. 
Childs  winced  at  that,  and  for  once  Arthur  Weston's  face 
was  candid. 

"I  suppose  that  will  get  into  the  newspapers,  too," 
said  Mrs.  Holmes — "  'A  young  society  girl  puts  roses' 
.  .  .  and  all  the  rest  of  the  horrid  vulgarity  of  it." 

"I  don't  think  human  kindness  is  ever  vulgar,"  Mr. 
Weston  said,  "and  I  am  sure  there  will  be  no  improper 
publicity.  Maitland  and  I  have  been  to  all  the  newspaper 
offices." 

"Alone,  at  midnight,  in  an  auto!"  Mrs.  Holmes  la 
mented. 

"Death  is  an  impeccable  chaperon,"  Weston  said. 
("That  will  shut  her  up!"  he  thought,  and  it  did,  for  a 
while.) 

"To  think  of  such  a  thing  happening  to  one  of  my  ser 
vants,"  Mrs.  Pay  ton  bewailed  herself;  "and  I  was  always 
so  considerate  of  them!" 

Mrs.  Holmes  said  there  was  too  much  consideration  for 
servants,  anyhow.  "Let  them  work!  There  isn't  one  of 
them  that  will  dust  the  legs  of  a  piano  unless  you  stand 

222 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

over  her!  Of  course,  I'm  sorry  for  Flora;  I  only  wish  I 
wasn't  so  sensitive!  But  she  did  starch  her  table  linen 
too  much,  Ellen;  you  can't  deny  that." 

"Who  is  going  to  pay  the  funeral  expenses?"  Mr.  Childs 
said.  "Does  the  city  do  that,  Weston,  or  is  it  up  to 
Ellen?" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Payton  has  no  responsibilities  about  Death 
— only  Life,"  said  Arthur  Weston,  grimly. 

"Of  course  I  will  attend  to  all  that!"  Flora's  employer 
said;  "anyhow,  her  wages  for  the  last  month  are  not  due 
until  next  week.  But,  of  course,  I  shall  do  everything  that 
is  proper." 

"Well,"  William  Childs  said,  "I  must  be  moving  along. 
I  was  going  to  work  out  a  new  Baconian  cipher  this  morn 
ing,  but,  of  course,  this  wretched  business  has  knocked  my 
mind  into  a  cocked  hat !  Come,  Bessie.  Bessie's  perfectly 
sick  over  the  whole  thing.  She  has  her  Bridge  Club  this 
afternoon,  and  this  awful  affair  has  completely  upset 
her.  Good-by,  Nelly;  let  me  know  if  there  is  anything  I 
can  do, "  and  he  hustled  Mrs.  Childs — who  kept  insisting, 
mildly,  that  she  was  so  sorry  for  poor,  dear  Freddy — out 
of  the  room.  At  the  door,  he  paused  to  call  back:  "This 
new  cipher  doesn't  leave  the  Shakespearians  a  leg  to 
stand  on!" 

Mrs.  Holmes  and  Mr.  Weston  lingered,  Mrs.  Holmes 
declaring  that  William  Childs  ought  to  learn  to  speak  dis 
tinctly — "he  mumbles  terribly" — and  Weston,  silent  and 
rather  wan,  walking  up  and  down,  waiting  for  Frederica's 
return. 

When  they  heard  the  key  in  the  front  door,  the  two 

223 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

ladies  stopped  talking;  it  was  Arthur  Weston  who  went 
into  the  hall  to  take  Fred's  hand  and  help  her  off  with  her 
coat.  She  hung  her  hat  up  beside  her  father's  and  gave 
her  old  friend  a  grim  look. 

"Has  Billy-boy  put  on  the  black  cap  yet?  Or  does 
grandmother  demand  that  Howard  shall '  make  an  honest 
woman'  of  me  before  the  sun  sets?  I  know  what  you've 
been  up  against!" 

"You  are  perfectly  exhausted,"  he  said,  tenderly;  "go 
up-stairs;  I'll  fight  it  out." 

"No,"  she  said, briefly. 

She  went  into  the  parlor,  looked  at  her  grandmother, 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  girded  herself  for  battle:  "  I'll 
tell  you  the  whole  story.  Poor  Flora  has  been  suffering, 
probably  for  a  year  or  more,  the  doctor  says,  from  some 
mental  deterioration.  She  was  restless  and  unhappy.  Of 
course,  we  knew  that,  because  she  did  her  work  badly — 
which  inconvenienced  us.  As  far  as  she  was  concerned,  it 
didn't  trouble  us.  She  was  restless,  because  she  wanted  to 
be  married  and  settle  down.  And  nobody  wanted  her; 
which  seemed  to  us  just — funny.  But  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  it  isn't  very  funny  not  to  be  wanted.  .  .  . 
When  she  couldn't  marry,  she  tried  to  get  interested  in 
something — music,  or  anything.  She  wanted  to  do  some 
thing." 

"  Do  something?    Well,  I  could  have  giv — " 

"I  tried  to  make  things  better  for  her,"  Fred  went  on, 
heavily,  "but  I  suppose  I  didn't  try  hard  enough.  Well, 
anyhow,  she  saw  I  was  in  love  with  Howard — "  a  little 
shock  ran  through  her  hearers ;  she  paused,  and  looked  at 

224 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

them,  faintly  surprised;  "why,  you  knew  I  was  in  love 
with  him,  didn't  you?  He  isn't  with  me;  not  in  the  least. 
And  Flora's  young  man  wasn't  in  love  with  her.  He  prom 
ised  to  write  to  her,  and  he  didn't.  And  that  upset  her  a 
good  deal.  But  I  think  the  thing  that  really  hit  her 
hardest  was  to  see  how  I  felt,  and  how  happy  I  was.  I — 
I  slopped  over,  I  suppose,  a  good  deal.  It  was  a  sort  of 
last  straw  to  Flora  to  see  me  so  happy;  it  made  her — 
well,  envious,  I  suppose.  Poor  old  Flora!  she  needn't 
have  been." 

She  stopped  and  put  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  rubbing 
them  wearily.  "I  tell  you  these  details  merely  to  ex 
plain  why  I  didn't  get  on  to  the  fact  sooner  that  she  had 
gone  out  of  the  house — I  was  so  absorbed  in  Howard. 
The  door  did  slam,  but  just  at  that  moment  I  was  .  .  .  say 
ing  something  to  him.  So  I  didn't  really  notice.  Then, 
afterward,  he  and  I  talked  and  talked,  until  it  was  time 
for  him  to  go  home;  and  then  we  discovered — "  She 
caught  her  breath  and  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

Her  mother  was  quite  overcome.  "So  distressing  for 
you,  dear!" 

Mrs.  Holmes  began  to  collect  her  gloves  and  bags. 

"Poor  Flora!"  Fred  said,  unsteadily.  "She  was  so  un 
happy.  Oh — how  unhappy  women  are!" 

"That's  because  they  are  fools,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes. 

"Oh,  yes;  we're  fools,  all  right,"  Frederica  said,  som 
berly.  Then  she  told  them  of  that  ride  in  the  fog  with 
the  dead  woman:  "We  had  done  everything  we  knew 
how,  and  we  couldn't  make  her  breathe;  so  I  told  Howard 
we  must  take  her  into  Laketon,  so  we  got  her  into  the 

225 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

auto,  and  I  held  her — "  There  was  a  shuddering  gasp 
from  Mrs.  Holmes;  she  was  trying  to  get  away,  taking  a 
backward  step  toward  the  door,  then  pausing,  then 
taking  another  step.  The  horror  of  the  thing  gripped  her. 
Weston  saw  her  face  growing  gray  under  its  powder.  But 
still  she  listened,  straining  forward  to  hear  distinctly. 

Frederica  was  telling  them  of  those  terrible  twenty 
minutes  in  the  car,  of  the  hour  in  the  doctor's  office,  of 
the  search  for  the  coroner,  of  the  drive  to  the  under 
taker's — then,  suddenly,  a  curious  thing  happened:  Mrs. 
Holmes,  her  face  rigid,  her  false  teeth  faintly  chattering, 
came  up  to  her  granddaughter  and  tapped  her  sharply  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  I  could  have  done  it,  too,  when  I  was  a  girl,"  she  said, 
harshly;  "but" — her  voice  broke  into  a  whisper — "not 
now.  I  would  be  afraid,  now."  Then  loudly,  "I'm  proud 
of  you!  You  are  no  fool." 

Frederica  gave  her  an  astonished  look:  "Why,  grand 
mother!"  It  was  as  if  a  stranger  had  spoken  to  her — 
but  a  stranger  who  might  be  a  friend. 

The  next  instant  Mrs.  Holmes  was  herself  again.  "It's 
all  too  horrid,"  she  said. 

"The  body,"  Fred  said,  "will  be  brought  here  this 
morning" — she  glanced  at  her  watch;  "it  ought  to  be 
here  now." 

Mrs.  Holmes  instantly  walked  out  of  the  room. 

"The  funeral  will  be  here  to-morrow.  I  suppose  Anne 
will  know  some  of  her  friends  whom  we  can  notify?"  She 
sighed,  and  again  rubbed  her  hand  over  her  eyes;  then 
looked  at  Arthur  Weston  and  smiled.  "Howard  is  all 

226 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

right,"  she  said;  "don't  make  any  mistake  about  that! 
Mother,  I'm  going  up-stairs  to  lie  down." 

She  went  out  into  the  hall,  stopped  to  open  the  front 
door  for  her  departing  grandmother,  then  whistled  to  Zip, 
and  they  heard  her  drag  her  tired  young  feet  up-stairs. 

Arthur  Weston's  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IT  was  extraordinary  how  much  better  Mrs.  Payton  was 
in  the  next  few  weeks.  Every  day  she  sat  in  the  entry 
outside  Mortimore's  door,  and  hour  after  hour  she  and 
Miss  Carter  talked  about  Flora.  Sometimes  Mortimore 
was  troublesome,  and  laughed  or  bellowed — and  then  his 
mother  retreated;  when  he  quieted  down,  she  returned, 
and  took  up  the  story  just  where  it  had  been  interrupted. 
After  each  detail  had  been  recited,  and  they  had  finally 
buried  poor  Flora,  rehearsing  every  incident  of  the  funeral, 
they  would  reach  the  question  of  the  disposition  of  her 
possessions.  Miss  Carter  had  packed  them  up,  and  knew 
just  how  valueless  they  were — "except  that  lovely  collar 
you  gave  her.  Now  /  think  that  is  too  good  for  the  Sal 
vation  Army!" 

At  this  point  the  discussion  was  apt  to  become  heated, 
Miss  Carter  contending  that  Flora's  things  should  be  sent 
to  one  of  the  negro  schools  in  the  South,  and  Mrs.  Payton 
standing  firmly  for  the  Salvation  Army.  Frederica,  asked 
to  decide  between  them,  said,  briefly,  "Burn  'em." 

"Wouldn't  that  be  wasteful?"  Mrs.  Payton  objected, 
gently. 

She  was  very  gentle  to  Fred  now.  Her  daughter's 
statement  about  being  "in  love"  had  been  a  very  great 

228 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

shock  to  her,  not  because  of  its  "indelicacy,"  painful  as 
that  was,  but  because  it  awoke  in  her  an  entirely  new 
idea:  Freddy  was  unhappy!  It  had  never  occurred  to 
Mrs.  Pay  ton  that  Freddy  could  be  unhappy  about  any 
thing — Freddy,  who  was  always  so  strong  and  self- 
sufficient!  That  she  should  suffer,  made  her  mother 
feel  nearer  to  her  than  she  had  since  Frederica  was  lit 
tle,  and  had  scarlet  fever,  and  Mrs.  Payton  hadn't  taken 
off  her  clothes  for  four  days  and  four  nights.  So,  when 
her  daughter's  drooping  lip  expressed  what  she  thought 
of  that  endless  gossiping  about  Death  outside  Mortimore's 
door,  Mrs.  Payton  was  very  gentle,  and  only  said  that  it 
would  be  wasteful  to  burn  Flora's  things.  Then  she 
tried  to  explain  that  she  sat  near  Morty  to  cheer  Miss 
Carter.  (Freddy  must  not  think  it  was  on  Morty's  ac 
count  !  It  would  be  too  dreadful  if  now,  "on  top  of  every 
thing  else,"  she  should  be  brooding  over  those  impatient 
words,  repented  of  the  minute  they  were  spoken!) 

But  Fred  displayed  no  signs  of  brooding  over  anything. 
She  took  up  her  interest  in  Life  just  where  it  had  paused 
for  a  moment  at  the  touch  of  Love.  But  before  she  set 
tled  down  into  the  commonplaces,  of  real  estate,  and 
dances,  and  league  work,  she  had  that  Pause  out  with 
herself.  .  .  . 

She  told  her  mother  that  she  was  going  to  the  bungalow 
to  put  things  to  rights.  (This  was  about  five  days  after 
Flora's  death.)  "Everything  is  just  as  we  left  it.  She 
hadn't  even  washed  the  dishes.  And  I  left  a  few  things 
there  that  I  must  bring  home." 

"Take  Anne  to  help  you." 

229 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Anne  would  have  a  fit — she's  so  superstitious!  No; 
I  don't  need  anybody." 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  Mrs.  Payton  ventured. 

Fred  was  frankly  amused  at  the  suggestion.  "You! 
No;  much  obliged,  but  I  don't  want  any  one." 

Mrs.  Payton  did  not  urge;  back  in  her  mind  there  was 
a  dim  memory  of  a  time  when  she,  too,  had  been  alive — 
and  suffered,  and  wanted  to  be  alone.  She  said  some 
thing,  hesitatingly,  to  this  effect  to  Arthur  Weston, 
who  dropped  in  that  morning  to  know  how  they  were 
getting  along. 

"Freddy  has  gone  out  to  that  awful  place,  to  pack  up," 
she  said;  "I'm  sure  it's  very  damp,  and  I'm  terribly 
afraid  she'll  take  cold.  But  she  would  go.  Sometimes  a 
person  likes  to  be  by  themselves,"  she  ended. 

He  was  surprised  at  such  understanding;  but  he  only 
said,  quietly,  that  he  would  drive  out  late  in  the  after 
noon  and  bring  her  home  in  his  car.  "She  can  have  eight 
hours  to  herself,"  he  said.  (He  had  had  some  hours  to 
himself  in  the  last  few  days;  hours  of  pacing  up  and  down 
his  library — saying  over  and  over,  "If  Maitland  isn't  in 
love  with  her,  why  shouldn't  I  at  least  tell  her  that  I — ? 
No!  I  have  no  chance.  But  if  she  should  forget  him? 
No,  no.  I  mustn't  think  of  it!") 

For  the  eight  hours  alone  Frederica  had  been  thirsting: 

Solitude. 

Lapping — lapping — lapping  water. 

Wind  in  the  branches. 

Shadows  traveling  across  distant  hills. 

And  no  human  face !    No  human  sound! 

230 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

So,  with  Zip  under  her  arm,  she  took  the  early  train 
to  Lakeville. 

From  the  station  she  walked  along  the  sandy  road 
where  dead  leaves  had  begun  to  fill  the  wheel-ruts,  down 
to  the  huddle  of  boarded-up  cottages  on  the  shore.  The 
last  time  she  had  gone  over  that  road,  how  thick  the  fog 
had  been!  Now,  the  lake  was  a  placid  white  shimmer 
against  the  horizon's  brooding  haze,  and  the  glimmering 
October  sunshine  lay  like  gilt  on  the  frosted  ferns  and 
brakes.  She  did  not  meet  a  single  soul.  Except  for  Zip, 
dashing  along  in  front  of  her,  or  an  occasional  crow  cawing, 
and  flapping  from  one  tree-top  to  another,  there  was  only 
the  wide  silence  of  the  sky.  The  sense  of  getting  away 
from  people  gave  her  a  feeling  of  relief  that  was  almost 
physical. 

When  she  reached  Lakeville  the  sight  of  Sunrise  Cot 
tage  was  like  a  blow;  she  stopped  short,  and  caught  her 
breath.  The  lamp  Howard  had  left  outside  the  house 
had  fallen  over — perhaps  a  squirrel  had  upset  it;  the  sol- 
ferino  shade  was  in  fragments;  leaves  had  blown  up  on 
the  porch.  But  the  flinching  was  only  for  a  moment — 
then  she  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

The  bungalow,  with  its  shut-up  smell,  was  just  as  they 
had  left  it,  except  that,  in  some  indescribable  way,  it 
had  lost  the  air  of  human  habitation.  Perhaps  because 
Death  had  been  there.  In  the  faint  draught  from  the  open 
door  a  sheet  of  music  slipped  from  the  piano  to  the 
floor  and  some  ashes  blew  out  of  the  fireplace.  The  cot 
tage  was  absolutely  silent. 

Frederica  felt  cold  between  her  shoulders.  She  did  not 

231 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

want  to  go  in,  she  did  not  want  to  have  to  turn  her  back 
on  the  stairs  that  led  up  to  the  vacant  rooms — Flora's 
room!  She  shivered;  set  her  lips  and  entered — but  she 
left  the  door  open  behind  her  into  the  living  world. 

The  emptiness  of  the  house  clamored  in  her  ears.  She 
found  herself  looking,  with  a  sort  of  fascination,  at  the 
disorder  of  the  chairs — which  stood  just  as  Howard  had 
pushed  them  aside  when  they  brought  Flora  in.  On  the 
arm  of  the  moms  chair  was  a  brass  plate  heaped  with 
cigarette-ashes.  For  some  obscure  reason  those  ashes 
seemed  to  her  unendurable — how  they  had  glowed,  and 
faded,  and  glowed  again,  filling  the  room  with  warm 
and  lazy  smoke,  while  she  and  Howard —  She  lifted  the 
little  tray  and  threw  the  ashes,  almost  with  violence,  into 
the  fireplace.  The  movement  broke  the  spell  that  had 
held  her  there  looking  at  things — at  the  learned  books, 
filmed  with  dust,  at  the  half-burned  candles,  at  the  with 
ered  roses  on  the  table.  Zip  nosed  about  at  that  water- 
soaked  spot  on  the  rug,  and  she  spoke  to  him  sharply; 
then  went  over  and  closed  the  piano. 

After  that,  it  was  easier  to  go  out  to  the  kitchen, 
though  there  was  still  a  tremor  at  the  thought  of  those 
empty  rooms  overhead.  Spread  out  on  the  table  were 
the  cards,  just  as  Flora  had  left  them.  In  the  sink  was 
the  clutter  of  unwashed  dishes.  .  .  .  Fred  drew  a  long 
breath,  opened  all  the  windows,  lighted  a  fire  in  the  stove, 
and  went  to  work. 

Of  course  the  exertion  of  packing  and  cleaning  was  a 
relief.  There  was  a  great  deal  to  do.  So  much  that  she 
felt  at  first  that  she  should  need  another  day  to  get 

232 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

through  with  it.  But  her  capability  was  never  more 
marked — by  noon  she  began  to  see  the  end.  She  ate  her 
luncheon  walking  about,  holding  a  sandwich  in  one  hand 
and  packing  books  with  the  other.  She  had  arranged 
with  her  landlord  to  send  a  van  to  the  cottage  for  the 
piano,  and  it  was  also  to  carry  her  things  back  to  town; 
she  had  thought  of  every  detail.  It  was  the  way  she  did 
all  her  work — drawing  up  leases,  or  talking  to  women's 
clubs,  or,  of  late,  "making  things  pleasant"  at  Payton 
Street.  Even  now,  shrinking  from  the  work  that  must  be 
done  up-stairs,  where  it  was  all  so  empty — so  full  of 
Flora! — she  was  efficient,  methodical,  thorough.  She 
scanted  nothing.  Yet  no  amount  of  busyness  dulled  the 
ache  of  misery  which  had  goaded  her  out  here  to  be  alone 
— but  she  was  impatient  at  herself  for  feeling  the  ache. 

It  was  so  unreasonable  to  be  miserable ! 

When  everything  was  done — the  kitchen  tidied,  books 
and  clothing  and  personal  odds  and  ends  packed,  even  the 
little  white  curtains  in  the  empty  rooms  up-stairs,  all 
limp  and  stringy  from  the  creeping  October  fogs,  pressed 
and  folded  and  put  away — it  was  still  early  afternoon. 
But  there  was  no  train  into  town  until  five;  she  would 
give  herself  up  to  the  silence. 

She  went  out  on  the  porch  and  sat  down  on  the  lowest 
step  in  the  sunshine.  Zip  ran  about,  chased  a  squirrel, 
then,  curling  up  on  her  skirt,  went  to  sleep.  Sometimes 
she  rubbed  his  ears,  sometimes  stared  out  over  the  lake — 

She  had  been  refused.    "I  am  hard  hit,"  she  admitted, 

and  her  face  quivered.    However,  she  could  stand  being 

hit!    She  could  take  her  medicine,  and  not  make  faces. 

16 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Arthur  Weston  had  said  that  about  her,  and  she  liked  to 
remember  it. 

Suddenly  her  mind  veered  away  into  all  sorts  of  unre 
lated  things.  Queer  that  Howard  cared  so  much  for 
shells.  He  had  found  that  pearl  in  a  shell;  the  pearl  that 
she  had  thought — oh,  what  a  fool  she  had  been! — was 
meant  for  her.  That  old  seed-pearl  set  of  her  mothers', 
pin  and  ear-rings,  would  make  a  dandy  pendant.  She 
believed  she'd  ask  her  mother  for  it.  Except  on  this  shell- 
digging  business,  how  entirely  Howard  and  she  agreed 
about  everything!  Few  men  and  girls  were  so  in  accord, 
mentally.  Imagine  Howard  trying  to  talk  to  any  of 
the  girls  of  her  set — even  to  Laura — as  he  talked  to  her! 
Why,  Laura  would  be  dumb  when  he  got  on  the  things 
that  were  worth-while.  He  had  once  said  that  he  would 
rather  talk  to  her  than  any  girl  he  knew;  no — it  was  to 
"any  man"  he  knew.  For  a  moment  the  old  pride  rose — 
then  fell.  She  almost  wished  he  had  said  to  "any 
girl."  Well;  no  girl — or  man,  either— could  have  done 
better  than  she  did  on  that  poster  scheme.  Howard 
would  say  so  when  she  would  tell  him  about  it,  and  she  was 
going  to  tell  him;  she  was  going  to  talk  to  him  just  as 
she  had  always  talked — about  everything  on  earth!  She 
must;  or  else  he  would  think  that  she  was  .  .  .  hard  hit; 
and  that  she  simply  couldn't  bear!  The  poster  scheme 
reminded  her  of  some  league  work  she  had  neglected  in 
these  five  days  of  tingling  emptiness,  and  she  frowned. 
"Gracious!  I  must  attend  to  that,"  she  said.  She  did 
not  know  it,  but  her  bruised  mind  was  fleeing  for  shelter 
into  trivialities.  Suddenly  she  took  her  purse  out  of 

234 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

her  pocket,  thrust  a  thumb  and  finger  into  the  place 
where  she  kept  her  visiting-cards,  and  took  out  a  burnt 
match.  She  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  with  a  grunt  of 
bitter  laughter;  then,  finding  a  little  stick,  dug  a  hole 
in  the  path,  laid  the  match  in,  covered  it,  and  stepped 
on  it,  hard. 

"That  is  the  end,"  she  said. 

After  a  while  she  realized  that  she  was  cold,  and  went 
back  into  the  house  and  kindled  a  fire.  She  sat  down  on 
a  hassock,  and  stretched  out  her  hands  to  the  blaze. 
The  sunshine  came  through  the  uncurtained  window  and 
laid  a  finger  on  the  soot  on  the  chimney  back;  its  faint 
iridescence  caught  her  eye.  Was  it  only  Monday  night 
that  she  and  Howard  had  sat  here  by  the  fire,  and  he 
had  kicked  the  logs  together  on  the  andirons,  and  the 
sparks  had  caught  in  the  soot  and  spread  and  spread  in 
marching  rosettes?  Why,  it  seemed  years!  It  was  then 
that  she  had — asked  him. 

She  wasn't  ashamed  of  it!  She  had  proposed  and  been 
refused.  "He  thought  it  was  stunning  in  me  to  do  it; 
he  said  so !  He  feels  as  I  do  about  the  equality  of  men  and 
women  in  this  kind  of  thing,  as  well  as  everything  else. 
Of  course,  he  may  have  said  so  just  to — to  make  it  easier 
for  me?  If  I  thought  that—" 

The  blood  rushed  into  her  face.  She  would  not  think 
that !  It  would  be  unendurable  to  think  he  had  not  been 
sincere.  "He  felt  it  was  perfectly  all  right  for  me  to  be 
the  one  to  speak.  And  it  was!" 

Of  course  it  was.  There  was  nothing  for  her  to  be 
ashamed  of.  She  herself  had  once  refused  an  offer  of 

235 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

marriage,  and  certainly  the  rejected  suitor  had  not  seemed 
to  suffer  any  pangs  of  shame !  He  had  displayed  a  rather 
mean  anger:  "He  wanted  my  money,  and  he  was  hopping 
mad  when  he  couldn't  get  it.  I  didn't  want  to  get  any 
thing.  I  only  wanted  to  give!  So  why  don't  I  brace  up? 
I  had  a  right  to  'give.'" 

She  was  quite  certain  that  she  had  a  right,  so  why  was 
she  so  miserable?  So — ashamed. 

In  spite  of  herself  she  said  the  word.  She  had  shied 
away  from  it,  and  refused  to  utter  it,  a  dozen  times;  but 
at  last,  here,  alone,  she  had  to  tell  herself  the  truth. 

She  was  ashamed. 

It  is  only  when  Truth  speaks  to  us,  as  in  the  cool  of 
the  day  the  Voice  of  God  spoke  in  the  Garden,  that  the 
human  creature  knows  he  is  ashamed.  Not  to  feel  Shame 
is  to  be  deaf  to  that  Voice.  Frederica  was  not  deaf;  but 
the  Voice  was  very  faint,  very  wandering  and  indirect. 
She  could  hardly  hear  it.  It  spoke  first  in  her  vague  wish 
that  Howard  had  said  he  would  rather  talk  to  her  than 
any  "girl"  he  knew;  and  then  it  spoke  in  the  wonder 
whether  a  man  does  like  to  be  "asked. " 

"If  he  doesn't,  it's  just  idiotic  tradition.  It  belongs  to 
the  days  of  slavery!" 

But  how  did  the  tradition  grow  up  that  a  woman 
mustn't  ask  a  man  to  marry  her?  She  tried  to  remember 
something  Arthur  Weston  once  said  about  men  being 
"born  hunters."  Her  lip  drooped,  angrily;  "Rot!"  she 
said;  "when  it  comes  to  love,  a  woman  has  as  much  at 
stake  as  a  man.  No,  she  has  more  at  stake !  She  has  the 
child.  Queer,"  she  thought,  "the  woman  is  always  the 

236 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

one  who  sticks  to  the  child."  She  wondered  if  that  was 
because  women  pay  such  a  price  for  children?  It  occurred 
to  her,  with  a  sense  of  having  made  a  discovery,  that  all 
through  nature,  the  mother  cares  for  her  offspring  just  in 
proportion  to  what  it  costs  her  to  bring  it  into  the  world. 

She  rolled  Zip  over  on  his  back  and  pulled  his  ears,  her 
mind  dwelling,  with  the  ancient  resentment  of  her  sex, 
upon  the  unfairness  of  nature — for  the  father  pays  no 
price!  "I  wonder  if  that  explains  desertion?  I  wonder 
if  men  desert  girls,  after  they've  got  them  into  trouble, 
simply  because  the  child  costs  them  nothing?  But  how 
the  girls  stick  to  the  babies,  poor  things!  They  hardly 
ever  go  off  on  their  own  bat.  And  yet"  (thus  the  Voice 
was  speaking!),  "the  child  needs  a  father  to  take  care  of 
it,  as  much  as  a  mother,  so  the  man  and  the  woman  ought 
to  keep  together.  .  .  .  But  he's  the  one  who  goes  off!  It 
ought  to  be  tit  for  tat !  Women  ought  to  do  the  deserting," 
she  said,  passionately;  but  a  moment  later  came  the  cyni 
cal  admission:  "Men  wouldn't  mind  being  'deserted.' 
They'd  probably  like  it.  They  ought  to  be  made  to  be 
constant.  When  we  get  the  vote,  we'll  make  laws  to  stop 
their  'deserting'!" 

Then  she  wavered;  as  far  as  laws  go,  there  were  enough 
now.  The  fact  was,  men  were  naturally  faithless!  "I 
hate  men,"  she  said,  between  her  set  teeth.  Arthur  Wes- 
ton  was  right,  they  were  "hunters."  They  are  constant 
— in  pursuit.  "We  ought  to  keep  them  on  the  hot-foot, 
then  they'd  be  more  keen  to  stay  with  us!"  In  a  flash 
came  the  rest  of  Weston's  comment:  "They  won't  bag 
the  game,  if  it  perches  on  their  fists."  Her  face  reddened 

237 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

violently.  She  had  come,  head  on,  against  a  biological 
fact,  namely,  that  reluctance  in  the  woman  makes  for 
permanence  in  the  man. 

Reluctance!  .  .  . 

Her  mother's  tiresome  talk  about  "cheapness"  was  sud 
denly  intelligible.  How  foolish  the  word  had  sounded !  Yet, 
perhaps,  under  its  foolishness  lay  a  primitive  fact :  that  the 
welfare  of  the  child  demands  a  permanent  relation  between 
the  father  and  the  mother.  But  in  proportion  as  she  is 
"  cheap,"  he  is  temporary,  and  the  relationship  is  jeopar 
dized! 

She  did  not  put  it  into  words,  but  she  realized,  amazed, 
that  woman,  whether  she  knows  it  or  not,  acts  upon  this 
old  race  knowledge.  For  the  child's  sake,  she  tries,  by 
every  sort  of  lure,  to  hold  man  to  permanence  which  she 
will  herself  acquire  by  the  fierce  welding  of  agony.  The 
surest  "lure"  is  based  upon  the  fact  that  man  pursues  that 
which  flees;  but  all  the  lures  spring  from  Nature's  purpose 
to  safeguard  the  child  by  giving  it  the  care  of  two  instead 
of  one.  For  the  "child"  is  the  most  important  thing  in 
the  world! 

Fred  was  thinking  hard.  Sometimes  she  put  a  stick  on 
the  fire,  and  once  she  got  up  and  paced  about  the  room. 
It  came  over  her,  with  a  rush  of  surprise,  that  all  the  talk 
of  what  girls  must  and  mustn't  do,  "all  the  drivel  about 
'propriety'!"  was  based  on  this  same  Race  instinct. 

She  saw  that  for  a  girl  to  love  a  man,  unasked,  is 
neither  ignoble  nor  immodest.  It  is  divine  to  love — al 
ways!  Such  love  is  a  jewel,  worn  unseen  above  a  girl's 
heart;  to  offer  it,  is  to  take  it  out  of  its  white  shelter  and 

238 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

fling  it  into  hands  that,  not  having  sought  it,  will  soon  let 
it  drop  between  indifferent  fingers.  She  saw  how  this 
Race  instinct  has  gradually — and  oh,  so  painfully,  oh,  so 
foolishly,  with  failure,  and  agony,  and  tragic  absurdities 
of  convention,  taught  women  the  value  of  the  reticence 
of  modesty. 

Taught  them  that  they  must  not  be  " cheap"! 

It  came  to  her  that  it  was  the  business  of  women  like 
herself — the  "new"  women,  who  are  going  to  set  Woman 
free! — it  was  their  business  to  discard  the  absurdities,  but 
keep  the  beauties  and  dignities;  for  beauty  and  dignity 
are  "lures,"  too.  "They  attract.  I  suppose  that  is  what 
Grandmother  means  by '  charm,' "  she  reflected ;  "  she  said 
I  hadn't  any."  Her  face  suddenly  scorched;  to  discover 
a  temperamental  deficiency  made  her  wince;  it  was  like 
discovering  a  physical  blemish.  She  understood,  now, 
what  Arthur  Weston  meant  when  he  "rowed"  about  her 
being  in  the  apartment  alone  with  Howard.  She  had 
been  "cheap."  She  had  "perched  on  his  fist."  He  had 
had  no  inclination  to  bag  the  game.  .  .  . 

It  was  all  very  loose  and  incoherent  thinking;  she 
caught  at  one  fact,  only  to  find  it  contradicted  by  another 
fact.  But  in  all  her  mental  confusion  one  anguished  wish 
stood  fast: 

"Oh,  if  I  only  hadn't  asked  him!" 

In  her  futile  shame,  her  head  fell  on  her  knees  and 
she  caught  her  breath  in  a  sort  of  sob — then  sat  upright, 
listening  intently:  a  motor!  Howard?  In  spite  of  reason, 
a  leap  of  hope  made  her  gasp. 

She  rose  quickly,  and  stood,  her  hand  over  her  lips — 

239 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

waiting.  .  .  .  Then  she  saw  the  car,  and  her  heart  seemed 
to  drop  in  her  breast;  it  was  only  Arthur  Weston. 

He  came  in,  saying,  cheerfully,  he  had  heard  she  was 
packing,  and  had  come  out  to  bring  her  back  to  town. 
"We  can  load  the  tonneau  with  anything  you  want  to 
take  home,"  he  said;  "I  suppose  you  haven't  any  tea  for 
a  wayfarer?"  He  was  very  matter-of-fact;  he  saw  the 
tremor  and  heard  the  catch  in  the  breath. 

There  was  some  tea,  she  said — but  no  cream;  she  would 
boil  some  water. 

He  sat  down,  and  she  waited  on  him,  getting  herself  in 
hand,  even  to  the  extent  of  some  pitiful  little  imperti 
nences.  Then,  by  and  by,  they  carried  her  things  out  to 
the  auto.  "My  landlord  is  going  to  send  for  the  piano," 
she  said;  "all  I  have  to  do  is  to  close  the  shutters." 

He  went  about  with  her,  helping  her,  teasing  her,  and 
scolding  her  because  she  was  tired.  When  everything  was 
done,  and  they  were  just  leaving  the  house,  she  paused 
abruptly,  and  her  hands  went  up  to  her  eyes. 

"Poor  Flora!" 

He  was  standing  beside  her,  gentle  and  pitying,  long 
ing  to  draw  those  shaking  hands  down  from  her  hidden 
face:  "You  were  always  good  to  her,"  he  said. 

"No!"  she  said,  in  a  smothered  voice;  "no."  Then, 
suddenly,  she  turned  toward  him  and  sank  against  his 
shoulder.  He  felt  the  sob  that  shook  her  from  head  to 
foot.  Instinctively,  his  arms  went  about  her,  and  he  held 
her  close  to  him;  he  was  silent,  but  he  trembled  and 
those  passionate  and  sensitive  eyebrows  twitched  with 
pain.  It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  he  felt  her  sob- 

240 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

bing  weight — then  she  flung  her  head  up,  her  face  quiv 
ering  and  smeared  with  tears.  "What  a  liar  I  am! 
I'm  not  crying  about  Flora  at  all.  I'm  just — unhappy. 
That's  all." 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  to  his  lips,  silently. 

"I'm  tired,"  she  said;  "—no!  no!  I  won't  lie— I  won't 
lie!  I'm  not  tired.  I've  been  a  fool !  That's  all.  A  fool." 

"We  all  have  to  be  fools,  Fred,  before  we  can  be  wise." 

She  had  drawn  away  from  him,  with  a  broken  laugh. 
"You  don't  know  anything  about  it!  You  don't  know 
what  it's  like  to  be  a  fool!" 

"Don't  I?  I  was  a  very  big  fool  myself,  once.  But 
I'm  so  wise  now  that  I'm  glad  of  all  the  blows  my  folly 
gave  me  then.  I'll  tell  you  about  it,  one  of  these  days." 

He  told  her  as  they  drove  back  to  town.  "And,"  he 
ended,  "I  can  see  that  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened 
to  me  was  to  have  Kate  jilt  me." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AFTER  Fred  had  gone  out  into  the  wilderness,  and 
learned  her  lesson;  after  that  long  day  in  the  cottage, 
when  her  mind  had  emptied  itself  of  some  of  its  own  cer 
tainties,  so  that  deep,  primitive  knowledges  could  flow 
into  it,  she  took  up  life  again  in  her  own  way.  She  went 
to  her  office,  she  exercised  Zip,  she  accepted  every  invi 
tation  that  came  to  her;  but  she  got  thin.  "Scrawny," 
her  grandmother  called  it.  Also,  she  expended  a  good  deal 
of  money  on  a  bridesmaid's  dress — for  something  had  hap 
pened!  Happened,  curiously  enough,  on  the  very  after 
noon  when  she  was  studying  that  hard  page  of  Nature's 
book,  all  alone,  in  the  empty  cottage  by  the  lake.  .  .  . 

The  very  next  morning  Laura  had  burst  into  15  Pay- 
ton  Street.  "Swear  not  to  tell,"  she  said;  and  when 
Fred  had  sworn,  the  secret — glowing,  wonderful !  was  told 
in  two  words: 

"I'm  engaged!" 

Then  came  an  ecstatic  recital,  ending  with  "I've  de 
cided  on  daffodil  yellow  for  your  dresses.  Rather  far 
ahead — for  it  isn't  to  be  until  the  middle  of  December. 
But  I  think  it's  just  as  well  to  plan,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course  it  is,"  Fred  agreed.  ("Oh,  if  I  only  hadn't 
asked  him!") 

242 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Billy-boy  will  juggle  out  enough  money  for  the  finest 
satin  going,  for  his  only  daughter;  but  you  girls  can  have 
perfectly  sweet  flowered  voile,  over  yellow  charmeuse. 
I've  a  corking  idea  for  your  hats."  Then  she  looked 
at  Fred  closely.  "You're  not  a  bit  surprised;  I  believe 
you  knew  what  was  going  to  happen!" 

Fred  laughed  non-committally.  Laura  herself  had  been 
so  far  from  knowing  what  was  going  to  happen,  that 
Howard  Maitland  had  to  fairly  pound  it  into  her  that  he 
was  in  love  with  her!  He  had  not  meant  to  tell  her  so 
soon.  It  wouldn't  be  decent,  he  thought,  remembering 
that  night  in  the  cottage.  He  hadn't  meant  to  speak  for 
at  least  a  month.  He  was  going  to  mark  time,  and  forget 
that  there  had  ever  been  a  minute  when  Fred  Payton  had 
imagined  she  cared  about  him — "for,  of  course,  that  was 
all  it  amounted  to,"  he  told  himself;  "imagination!" 
There  was  more  modesty  than  truth  in  his  phrase,  yet  his 
conviction  was  sincere  enough — "A  girl  like  Fred  couldn't 
really  care  for  me.  I'm  not  up  to  her!" 

It  was  characteristic  of  his  simple  soul,  that  he  told 
Laura  the  same  thing,  when  he  blundered  into  the  pro 
posal  that  he  had  meant  to  hold  back  for  a  month.  It 
was  wrung  from  him  by  his  despair  at  her  misunder 
standing  his  feeling  about  Fred.  He  was  in  full  swing 
of  haranguing  her  upon  the  wonderfulness  of  her  cousin 
— "Of  course;  she's  perfectly  stunning,"  Laura  had  in 
terrupted;  "I  know  she's  simply  great.  But  why  on 
earth  you  two  don't  announce  your  engagement  I  can't 
imagine!  You  make  me  a  little  tired,"  she  said,  good- 
naturedly,  but  rather  obviously  bored. 

243 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Announce  our  what?" 

"Engagement.    Do  you  suppose  we  are  all  blind?" 

Howard  Maitland  actually  whitened  a  little  under  his 
Philippine  tan.  "You  are  mistaken,  Laura,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "If  I  have  given  you  the  impression  that  Fred 
had  the  slightest  feeling  for  me,  I  ought  to  be  kicked." 

Laura  turned  an  indignant  face  toward  him:  "Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  Fred  has  only  been  flirting  with  you? 
I  don't  believe  it!  She's  not  that  kind." 

They  were  in  the  Childses'  parlor  in  the  yellow  dusk  of 
the  autumn  afternoon.  Laura  had  given  her  caller  two 
cups  of  tea  with  four  lumps  of  sugar  in  each  cup,  and 
Howard,  between  innumerable  little  cakes,  had  been  tell 
ing  her  again  of  Frederica's  behavior  that  terrible  night 
at  the  camp.  It  was  at  least  the  third  time  that  she  had 
heard  the  grim  details,  and  each  time  she  had  shivered 
and  wished  he  would  stop.  To  silence  him,  she  had 
charged  upon  him  for  not  announcing  his  engagement ;  it 
seemed  flippant,  but  it  would  change  the  subject.  His 
dismay  made  her  forget  Flora,  in  real  bewilderment.  Not 
engaged  to  Fred!  Had  Fred  played  with  him? 

"If  Fred's  been  just  flirting,  she  ought  to  be  ashamed," 
Laura  said,  hotly;  "she  knew  you  were  perfectly  gone 
on  her." 

"Laura,  you  didn't  suppose  such  a  thing?" 

"That  you  were  gone  on  Fred?  Of  course  I  did!  I 
knew  you  were  crazy  about  her,  a  year  ago;  and  so  did 
she.  Howard,  I'm  awfully  sorry." 

"Sorry— for  what?" 

"For  you." 

244 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Howard  Maitland  got  on  his  feet,  and  walked  the 
length  of  the  room,  and  back;  he  said  something  under 
his  breath.  Then  he  drew  up  a  chair  beside  her  and  took 
her  hand. 

"I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"What!" 

"You  are  the  only  girl  I  ever  cared  two  cents  for." 

She  put  her  hand  against  her  young  breast,  in  astound 
ed  question:  "I?" 

"I  should  think  you'd  have  seen  it.  You,  and — and 
everybody." 

"But  Howard,  it  can't  be — me?"  she  protested,  faintly. 

"It's  been  you,  always.  When  you  accuse  me  of  being 
in  love  with — with  anybody  else,  and  say  everybody 
thought  so,  you  just  bowl  me  over!"  His  shocked  aston 
ishment  left  no  doubt  of  his  sincerity. 

"But  Freddy,"  Laura  began — 

He  broke  in  sharply:  "Fred  knows  how  tremendously 
I  admire  her.  I've  always  said  so,  to  you  and  to  her,  too. 
And  I  believe  she  likes  me  as  much  as  she  likes  any  of  us 
fellows — but  of  course  I'm  not  up  to  her,  and  she  never 
flirted  with  me  in  her  life!  She's  not  the  kind  of  girl 
who  wants  to  collect  scalps,"  he  said,  almost  with  anger. 
"I  never  thought  of — caring  for  her.  Why,  I — I  couldn't 
care  for  Fred!" 

"But  you  were  always  talking  about  her,  and — " 

"Of  course  I  talked  about  her!  Doesn't  everybody 
talk  about  her?  But  as  for  being  in  love  with  her — Laura, 
I  tell  you,  you  are  the  only  girl  in  existence,  so  far  as  I'm 
concerned.  I  suppose  you  don't  care  anything  about  me." 

245 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Laura  put  her  hands  over  her  face,  and  laughed;  then 
stretched  them  out  to  him,  and  the  tears  brimmed  over. 
.  .  .  "Oh,  Howard,  you  are  such  a  goose!" 

There  was  a  speechless  moment;  then  he  put  his  arms 
around  her,  kissed  the  fluffy  hair  that  brushed  his  lips, 
and  said,  "Oh,  my  little  darling!  my  little  love.  ..." 

After  that  they  had  to  talk  it  all  over,  and  there  were 
endless  explanations. 

"You  do  believe  I  never  thought  of — anybody  else?" 
he  asked,  again  and  again.  And  she  said  yes,  she  be 
lieved  it,  but  she  didn't  understand  it. 

"Why,  I  was  so  sure  you  were  in  love  with  her,  I  used 
to  give  you  chances  to  be  together.  Do  you  remember 
that  afternoon  you  went  to  say  good-by  to  her,  before  you 
went  to  the  Philippines  ?  I  stayed  up-stairs  to  give  you  a 
chance  to  ask  her." 

"Laura!" 

"I  did." 

"How  could  you  be  so  absurd?" 

"Everybody  thought  so." 

That  silenced  him.  He  was  horribly  ashamed.  It  was 
his  fault,  then,  that  night  in  the  cottage?  "Everybody 
thought  so."  So,  naturally,  Fred  thought  so — and  she 
was  the  noblest  and  most  generous  woman  in  the  world! 
"It's  my  fault  somehow,  that  she  spoke,"  he  told  himself, 
in  a  passion  of  humiliation. 

That  night  he  wrote  to  her.  The  engagement  was  not 
to  "come  out"  for  two  or  three  weeks; — "only  the  family 
must  know,"  Laura  said;  but  Howard  had  protested: 
"Fred— let's  tell  Fred?" 

246 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Well,"  Laura  consented,  reluctantly,  "I'll  go  and 
see  her  to-morrow  morning  and  make  her  swear  not 
to  tell." 

"  She  can  keep  a  secret,"  he  said.  He  did  not  add  that 
Fred  should  learn  the  secret  before  to-morrow  morning. 
"I'm  the  one  to  break  it  to  her,"  he  thought.  Then  men 
tally  kicked  himself  for  saying  "break  it." 

When  he  sat  down  at  his  desk  that  night  to  write  to 
her,  his  face  was  rigid  at  what  was  before  him;  it  was 
nearly  dawn  before  the  task  was  finished;  letters — long 
letters,  short  letters,  letters  expressing  his  admiration  for 
her,  letters  ignoring  it,  letters  about  Laura,  about  the 
Philippines,  about  Flora — were  written  out,  torn  up, 
flung  into  the  waste-basket.  Then  came  the  brief,  blunt 
truth-telling:  Laura  had  accepted  him,  and  he  knew 
that  she,  his  old  pal,  would  wish  them  happiness.  Of 
course  there  was  a  postscript:  she  would  be  their  very 
best  friend,  because  they  both  thought  she  was  the  finest 
woman  they  knew. 

When  the  letter  was  addressed  and  sealed,  he  went  out 
into  the  four-o'clock-in-the-morning  stillness,  and  walked 
over  to  Payton  Street  to  slip  it  into  the  letter-box  of  the 
sleeping  house.  He  would  not  trust  it  to  the  mail;  he 
would  run  no  risk  of  Laura's  arriving  before  the  first  de 
livery.  Fred  mustn't  be  caught  off  guard!  Then  he 
walked  home — glanced  at  a  little  suspiciously  by  an  officer 
on  his  somnolent  beat — about  as  uncomfortable  a  young 
man  as  ever  realized  his  own  happiness  in  contrast  to 
some  one  else's  unhappiness — for,  in  spite  of  his  modest 
disclaimer,  he  knew  that  Fred  was  unhappy :  "How  would 

247 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

I  feel  if  Laura  had  refused  me?  And,  of  course,  Fred  is 
harder  hit  than  a  man  would  be." 

But,  no  matter  how  hard  hit  she  was,  thanks  to  that 
letter,  the  next  morning,  when  Laura  swore  her  to  se 
crecy,  and  said  that  the  bridesmaids'  hats  would  be 
dreams!  Fred's  upper  lip  was  smilingly  stiff. 

It  was  just  after  that  that  Mrs.  Holmes  began  to  say 
that  her  granddaughter  was  "scrawny." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

OFTEN,  in  those  weeks  before  Laura's  wedding,  Mrs. 
Payton,  working  out  a  puzzle,  or  playing  Canfield 
on  the  big  rosewood  table  in  the  sitting-room,  would  stop 
and  stare  straight  before  her,  with  unseeing  eyes.  .  .  . 
Like  a  needle  working  its  way  through  nerveless  flesh 
toward  some  vital  spot,  a  new  emotion,  anger,  was  pen 
etrating  the  routine  of  her  meaningless  days. 

Laura  had  cut  Freddy  out! 

Love  for  Morty,  the  dam  love,  which  is  the  habit  of 
the  body  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  intellect,  was 
pushed  aside  by  the  new  idea:  Freddy  was  suffering 
because  Laura  had  stolen  her  lover. 

"It  was  despicable  in  her!"  Mrs.  Payton  said  to  her 
self — and  the  needle-point  of  anger  came  a  little  nearer 
to  that  sleeping  nerve  of  maternity,  which,  when  it  was 
reached,  would,  in  a  pang  of  exquisite  pain,  make  her  love 
Fred  as  she  had  never  loved  anything  in  her  life. 

Mrs.  Payton  put  a  black  nine  on  a  red  eight;  saw  her 
mistake,  frowned,  and  put  out  a  mechanical  hand  to  cor 
rect  it.  "I  wonder  if  she  would  drink  a  glass  of  malted 
milk  at  night,  if  I  fixed  it  for  her?"  she  thought;  and  un 
covered  an  ace.  "Laura  hasn't  half  her  brains !"  she  said, 
and  put  the  card  in  the  ace  row ;  "how  could  Mr.  Maitland 
17  249 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

see  anything  to  her — except  looks?  She  is  pretty.  But 
Freddy  is  worth  a  dozen  of  her,  and  he  was  head  over  ears 
in  love  with  her !  Yes ;  Laura  simply  took  him  from  her ! 
I  shall  never  feel  the  same  to  Laura  again ; — and  I  suppose 
Bessie  and  William  expect  me  to  give  her  a  handsome 
wedding-present."  She  wondered,  with  vague  malice, 
whether  there  wasn't  something  in  the  house — the  old 
wonder  of  the  reluctant  giver  of  gifts! — that  she  could 
send  Laura?  Some  family  silver;  the  epergne,  for  in 
stance,  three  silver  squirrels  holding  a  platter  on  their 
heads. 

The  question  of  the  wedding-present  was  so  irritating 
to  her,  that  in  the  afternoon,  when  Freddy  came  in,  rather 
listlessly  (this  was  in  November — a  month  before  the 
wedding),  Mrs.  Pay  ton  referred  the  matter  to  her — shift 
ing  her  angry  pain  to  Freddy's  galled  young  shoulders. 
There  was  no  wincing. 

"What  shall  we  give  Laura?" 

"Something  bully!  I  was  talking  to  her  about  it  to 
day,  and  asked  her  what  she  wanted.  I  think  a  rug  is 
the  thing." 

"I  wonder  if  some  of  the  Payton  silver — "  Mrs.  Payton 
began — but  Fred  threw  up  horrified  hands. 

"No!  No  second-hand  goods!  And  it's  got  to  be 
something  first  rate,  too;  (if  it  takes  my  last  dollar!)"  she 
added,  under  her  breath. 

The  rug  did  not  take  quite  the  last  dollar,  but  it  took 
more  than  she  could  afford,  and  Laura  was  perfectly  de 
lighted  with  it.  Howard,  standing  on  it,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  dug  an  appreciative  heel  into  its  silky  nap,  and 

250 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

made  his  usual  comment:  "It's  bully!  Fred's  taste  is 
great!" 

Sometimes,  looking  back  on  the  night  that  Flora  died, 
Howard  wondered  if  it  all  (except  the  poor  soul's  suicide) 
was  not  a  dream?  For  Fred  was  so  "bully"!  .  .  .  Enter 
ing  into  all  Laura's  ecstasies  and  anxieties ;  crazy  to  know 
who  would  make  the  wedding-dress;  perfectly  wild  over 
Howard's  present  to  his  bride;  frantic  because  it  was  too 
early  to  get  jonquils  for  the  rope  down  each  side  of  the 
aisle.  .  .  .  That  astounding  moment  in  the  bungalow 
must  have  been,  Howard  told  himself,  a  dream!  Two 
dreams — his  and  Fred's,  for  she  evidently  cared  no  more 
for  him  than  for  old  Weston. 

So  the  days  passed  (Howard  thought  they  never  would 
pass !)  and  the  Day  drew  near.  When  it  came,  Frederica 
Payton's  head  was  as  high  as  any  of  the  other  young 
heads.  There  were  eight  of  them,  in  most  marvelous  and 
expensive  yellow  hats,  to  follow  the  shimmering  Laura 
up  the  aisle.  At  the  reception  afterward,  Frederica,  in  her 
vivid  joyousness  almost — so  her  Uncle  William  said — 
"took  the  shine  off  the  bride!  Remember  Shakespeare 
(as  you'd  say) — 

"Bring  in  our  daughter 
Clothed  like  a  bride  .  .   . 
See,  where  she  comes, 
Appareled  like  the  spring," — 

Mr.  Childs  quoted,  puffing  happily — "but  that  frock 
you've  got  on  is  spring-like,  too — all  yellow  and  white, 
like  buttercups  and  daisies." 

251 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I'm  rather  stuck  on  it,  myself,"  Fred  said,  compla 
cently;  she  was  standing  beside  Arthur  Weston,  eating 
ice-cream  with  appetite. 

"Well,"  her  uncle  said,  chuckling,  "I  may  tell  you  in 
confidence —  Hey,  Howard!"  he  interrupted  himself, 
clutching  at  the  passing  bridegroom,  "I  was  just  telling 
Freddy  that  I  was  very  much  astonished  when  I  learned 
that  you  were  to  be  my  son-in-law.  I  thought  you  were 
making  up  to  her!" 

"To  me?"  said  Fred,  incredulously;  "he  never  knew 
I  existed  when  Laura  was  around!" 

"  I'm  just  looking  for  Laura  now,"  Howard  said,  with  a 
gasp;  "she's  deserted  me!"  he  complained,  laughing — 
and  escaped. 

"Oh,"  Mr.  Childs  said,  clapping  his  niece  on  the 
shoulder  so  heartily  that  her  ice-cream  spilled  over,  "of 
course  I  know,  now,  that  it's  always  been  Laura!" 

"Yes,"  Fred  agreed,  gaily,  "he's  been  dead  set  for 
Lolly  for  the  last  two  years." 

So  she  got  through  with  the  Day.  .  .  .  When  she 
reached  home,  and  up  in  her  own  room  took  off  the  yellow 
hat,  she  took  off  that  gallant  smile,  too;  she  had  worn  it 
until  the  muscles  about  her  lips  were  stiff.  She  was  pro 
foundly  fatigued;  too  fatigued  to  feel  anything  but  relief 
that  the  wedding  was  over.  Even  the  old  ache  of  wishing 
she  "hadn't  told  him"  was  numbed.  It  was  part  of  the 
generosity  of  her  honest,  sore  young  heart,  that  she  felt 
a  faint  satisfaction  in  the  fact  that,  anyhow,  he  was  happy; 
as  for  Laura — "how  mean  I  am  to — dislike  her!  It 
wasn't  her  fault,  and  she's  just  the  same  old  Lolly.  I 

252 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

won't  dislike  her!  I'll  love  her,  just  as  I've  always  loved 
her."  When  she  went  down  to  dinner  that  night  she  put 
the  smile  on  again,  and  was  very  airy  and  smart  in  her 
comments  to  Mrs.  Payton  upon  the  Childs  family,  and 
the  company  in  general. 

"Laura  was  perfectly  sweet!  But  Aunt  Bessie  is  too 
fat  to  wear  such  tight  clothes.  Why  do  the  fat  fifties 
always  wear  tight  clothes?  .  .  .  Grandmother  wasn't 
shy  on  powder,  was  she  ?  .  .  .  Billy-boy  would  talk  about 
Bacon  at  his  own  funeral!  .  .  .  How  many  kinds  of  a 
fool  do  you  suppose  that  old  hag,  Maria  Spencer,  is  ?  ... 
I — I  guess  I'll  go  to  bed.  I  was  an  idiot  to  eat  ice-cream; 
it  always  makes  my  head  ache." 

Perhaps  her  head  ached  too  badly  for  sleep.  At  any 
rate,  hours  later,  when  15  Payton  Street  had  sunk  into 
midnight  darkness,  she  heard  a  board  creak  under  a  care 
ful  step  in  the  hall,  and  sat  up  in  bed,  -saying,  sharply, 
"Who's  that?" 

"It's  I,  dear.  Don't  be  frightened."  Mrs.  Payton 
came  feeling  her  way  across  the  room  to  Fred's  bedside. 

"Is  anything  the  matter?    Is  Mortimore — " 

"No,  no;  nothing!  Only,  Freddy,  my  darling,  I — I 
just  want  to  tell  you  something."  She  Sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  and  Frederica  heard  her  draw  in  her 
breath  in  a  sob. 

"Mother!  Are  you  ill?" 

"No — no.  But  Freddy,  I — I  didn't  mean  it  when  I 
said  that  about  Mortimore." 

"Said  what?"  Fred  said,  frowning  with  anxiety;  "here, 
let  me  light  the  gas!" 

253 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"No,  don't!"  Mrs.  Payton  put  a  restraining  hand  on 
her  daughter's  shoulder;  " about — about  loving  him  best. 
I  don't,  dear;  truly  I  don't." 

"But,  Mother!" — Fred  put  her  arms  about  the  soft, 
loose  figure  that  tumbled  into  sobs  against  her — "  I  didn't 
know  you  said  it,  and  if  you  did,  I  don't  mind  it  in  the 
least!"  She  felt  her  mother's  tears  on  her  cheek,  and 
gathered  her  up  against  her  breast;  "Why,  Mother! 
It's  all  right — really  it  is.  It's  all  right  to  love  him 
best—" 

"But  I  don't— I  don't!    I  love  you  best." 

"Why,"  Fred  soothed  her,  "I  didn't  even  remember 
you'd  said  it.  You  only  told  me  I  was  like  Father — and 
that  did  me  good." 

"No!  I  never  said  you  were!  And  it  isn't  so.  You're 
not— not  a  bit !  My  little  Freddy !' ' 

Frederica  smiled  grimly  in  the  darkness,  and  she  let  the 
statement  pass ;  for  suddenly  something  surged  up  in  her 
breast;  something  she  had  never  felt  in  her  life;  some 
thing  that  was  actual  pain;  she  had  no  name  for  it,  but 
it  made  the  tears  sting  in  her  eyes.  "There,  dear,  there!" 
she  comforted  her  cowering  mother;  ..."  I  understand," 
she  said,  brokenly;  "I  understand!" 

It  is  a  wonderful  moment,  this  moment  of  "under 
standing."  It  made  Fred  draw  the  foolish  gray  head  down 
on  her  young  breast,  and  caress  and  comfort  it,  as  years 
ago  her  own  little  head  had  been  caressed  and  kissed. 
They  were  both  "mothers"  at  that  moment. 

So  Laura's  wedding-day  was  lived  through.  And  by 
and  by  the  weeks  that  followed  were  lived  through.  And 

254 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

then  the  months  pushed  in  between  Fred  and  that  night 
at  the  camp.  She  never  spoke  of  Howard  and  Laura. 

"I  wonder  if  she's  got  over  it,"  Mrs.  Pay  ton  speculated, 
wistfully.  She  was  glad,  for  her  part,  that  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  had  gone  abroad,  and  she  did  not  have  to  see 
them — "especially  Laura!"  she  used  to  say  to  herself,  bit 
terly.  If  Fred  was  bitter,  she  didn't  show  it;  she  was 
absorbed  in  league  work,  and  a  really  growing  real-estate 
business ;  it  was  all  she  could  do  to  find  time  to  listen  when 
her  mother  talked,  and  talked,  and  talked — or  people,  or 
puzzles,  or  parlor-maids !  But  how  could  she  fail  to  listen 
— no  matter  how  dull  and  foolish  the  talk  was — remember 
ing  that  midnight  of  pity? 

"Freddy  is  getting  very  companionable,"  Mrs.  Pay  ton 
told  Arthur  Weston.  He  had  come  upon  Fred  bending 
over  a  puzzle  spread  out  on  the  big  table  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  trying  to  fit  one  wriggly  piece  of  blue  after  an 
other  into  a  maliciously  large  expanse  of  uncharted 
sky;  she  had  been  obviously  relieved  at  the  chance  to  shift 
the  entertainment  of  Mrs.  Payton  to  his  shoulders. 

"I've  got  to  go  to  a  league  meeting,"  she  excused  her 
self.  When  she  had  gone  and  he  was  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  fire,  sipping  his  tea  and  talking  pleasantly  of 
the  weather,  or  the  barber's  children,  or  poor  Flora's  tend 
ency  to  put  too  much  starch  in  the  table  linen  (raising 
his  voice,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  when  there  was  a  noise 
behind  the  door  of  the  other  room) ,  he  agreed  warmly  with 
Mrs.  Payton's  tribute  to  her  daughter:  "Freddy  is  getting 
companionable. ' ' 

"  Indeed  she  is !"  he  said,  and  added  that  she  was  remark- 

255 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

ably  clever  about  puzzles — which  pleased  Mrs.  Payton 
very  much.  This  new  sense  of  sympathy  which  held  Fred 
down  to  picture  puzzles,  made  her  try  to  avoid  topics  on 
which  she  knew  she  and  her  mother  could  not  agree.  As 
the  winter  went  on,  the  especial  topic  to  be  avoided  was  a 
strike  among  the  rubber  workers.  Fred  was  passionately 
for  the  strikers,  who  were  all  girls.  She  went  constantly 
to  Hazelton,  where  the  factory  was,  to  give  what  help  she 
could  to  the  union  women,  and  to  admonish  them  that 
the  way  to  cure  industrial  conditions,  which  all  fair- 
minded  people  admitted  were  frightful,  was  by  the 
ballot. 

"  Get  the  man's  ballot,  and  you'll  get  the  man's  wages!" 
was  her  slogan — and  she  was  quite  fierce  with  her  man  of 
business  when  he  pointed  out  the  economic  fallacy  of 
her  words. 

"The  kingdom  of  God  cometh  not  by  the  ballot,"  he 
admonished  her. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  going  to  Sunday-school !" 

"A  little  Sunday-school  wouldn't  hurt  you.  It  never 
seems  to  strike  you,"  he  ruminated,  "that  if  'laws,'  which 
you  are  so  anxious  to  have  a  hand  in  making,  could  settle 
supply  and  demand,  the  men,  poor  creatures,  would  have 
feathered  their  own  nests  a  little  better." 

To  which  Miss  Payton  replied,  concisely,  "Rot!" — and 
continued  to  tell  the  strikers  that  suffrage  was  a  cure-all. 

It  was  in  March  that  one  of  the  morning  papers  an 
nounced,  with  snobbish  detail,  that  Miss  Freddy  Payton, 
a  "young  society  girl,"  had  "patrolled"  to  keep  off  scabs. 
That  evening,  at  dinner,  Mrs.  Payton,  mortified  to  death 

256 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

at  the  notoriety,  and  encouraged  by  Arthur  Weston's 
presence  at  the  table,  ventured  into  controversy: 

"When  I  was  a  young  lady — "  she  began,  and  instantly 
Fredericks  lance  was  in  rest!  She  did  not  mean  to  be 
cruel — but  she  couldn't  help  being  smart.  Her  mother's 
injured  sense  of  propriety  was  batted  back  to  her  across  the 
dinner-table,  like  a  shuttlecock  from  a  resounding  battle 
dore. 

"You  may  say  what  you  like,"  Mrs.  Payton  said,  obsti 
nately,  "but  I  don't  believe  it  would  make  a  bit  of  dif 
ference  to  give  those  perfectly  uneducated  Italian  girls  a 
vote.  It  hasn't,"  she  ended,  with  one  of  those  flashes  of 
shrewdness  so  characteristic  of  dull  women,  "made  any 
difference  in  the  men's  wages,  And,  anyhow,  I  don't 
understand  why  you  like  to  mix  yourself  up  with  all  sorts 
of  persons." 

"The  Founder  of  your  religion  mixed  Himself  with  al 
sorts  of  persons,"  Frederica  said,  wickedly;  "but,  of 
course,  He  would  not  be  in  society  to-day." 

"That  is  a  very  irreverent  thing  to  say,"  Mrs.  Payton 
said,  stiffly. 

("Now,  why,"  Mr.  Weston  pondered,  "why  doesn't  the 
atrocious  taste  of  that  sort  of  talk  cure  me?  Because,"  he 
answered  himself,  "it  'amuses'  me!  Oh,  Cousin  Eliza, 
you  are  a  wise  old  woman!") 

As  for  Frederica,  she  was  not  conscious  that  her  lack 
of  taste  was  amusing;  but  she  knew  it  was  unkind,  and 
felt  the  instant  stab  of  remorse.  (" I'm  just  like  Father!" 
she  groaned  to  herself) ;  then  with  resolution  she  began  to 
talk  about  puzzles;  she  said  she  thought  the  reason  her 

257 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

mother  couldn't  work  out  that  six-hundred-piece  one  was 
because  the  people  who  made  it  had  omitted  some  pieces, 
and  it  never  could  be  got  out. 

"Try  it  a  few  days  longer,"  Fred  said,  "and  then,  if  you 
want  me  to,  I'll  write  to  the  people  who  manufactured  it 
and  ask  them  about  it.  Arthur  Weston!  I  am  going  to 
stand  by  those  girls  in  Hazelton  until  they  win  out!" 

"When  they  do,  their  work  will  stop,"  he  prophesied, 
mildly.  "The  factory  hasn't  paid  a  dividend  for  three 
years,  and  if  wages  go  up,  it  will  shut  up.  I  happen  to 
know  how  they  stand." 

"Laura's  back,"  Fred  said,  abruptly;  "they  got  home 
yesterday.  I  asked  her  if  she'd  walk  in  the  parade,  and 
she  said,  'Howard  wouldn't  like  it!'  That  sort  of  thing 
makes  me  tired." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  invitation  to  walk  in  the  parade  had  not  been 
given  easily.  Fred  had  forced  herself  to  ask  Laura, 
for  very  shame  at  the  ache  of  resentment  which  neither 
reason,  nor  her  old  habit  of  affection  for  her  cousin, 
could  conquer.  Laura's  refusal  gave  her  a  sort  of  angry 
satisfaction.  "Of  course!  What  could  you  expect ?  She's 
a  sweet  little  thing,  but  she  has  no  mind  to  speak  of.  Poor 
Howard !  She  must  bore  him  to  death."  As  for  Howard's 
not  liking  parades, — well,  that  was  queer.  He  never  had 
quite  realized  their  value;  probably  because  he  hadn't 
really  thought  about  them.  She  would  talk  it  over  with 
him  sometime,  and  make  him  understand.  She  was  not 
in  the  least  annoyed  with  Howard,  but  it  was  all  she  could 
do  to  hide  her  contempt  for  Laura;  "Why  do  women  grovel 
so  before  men?  It  makes  me  perfectly  sick !"  Even  when 
Laura,  with  the  old,  puppy-like  devotion,  offered,  one 
morning,  to  go  with  her  to  Hazelton  where  Fred  was  to 
address  the  strikers,  it  was  not  easy  to  be  cordial. 

"I'll  tag  around  after  you,  and  clap,"  Laura  said. 

"Howard  willing?"  Fred  said,  sarcastically. 

Laura  laughed:    "I  haven't  asked  him.     He's  in  Cin 
cinnati.     Won't  be  home  until  this  afternoon." 

"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  go  if  he  wasn't?" 

259 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I  suppose  I  wouldn't,"  Laura  said,  simply. 

Fred's  lip  drooped.  But  she  only  said,  good-naturedly, 
"Come  along!"  They  went  to  Hazel  ton  by  trolley,  Fred 
having  vetoed  Laura's  limousine:  "It's  too  much  'Lady 
Bountiful.'  Your  gasolene  for  a  week  would  pay  a  girl's 
board  for  a  month." 

In  the  long  ride,  spinning  and  jouncing  through  the 
countryside  until  they  reached  the  squalid  outskirts  of 
the  little  town,  Frederica  listened  to  Laura's  talk  of  Eu 
rope — and  Howard.  Of  Paris  frocks — and  Howard.  Of 
the  voyage  home — and  Howard. 

"I  won't  be  horrid,  I  won't!  I  love  her  just  exactly  the 
same — "  Fred  was  saying  to  herself,  staring  out  of  the 
window  at  the  flying  landscape,  at  the  woods  where  the 
leafless  trees  were  showing  the  haze  of  swelling  buds,  at 
the  snow,  melting  in  the  frozen  furrows.  "Yes.  .  .  ." 
"No.  ..."  "Really?"  she  would  say,  when  sometimes 
Laura's  chatter  paused.  ("Oh,  how  bored  Howard  must 
be  by  this  sort  of  thing!"  she  thought.  She  couldn't  help 
remembering  how  differently  she  had  talked  to  Howard — 
the  big  things,  the  real  things!  "Poor  old  Howard!") 
Once  there  was  quite  a  long  pause,  and  Fred  stopped 
watching  the  racing  landscape  and  looked  at  Laura.  It 
was  then  that  Laura  softly  told  her  a  piece  of  news: 

"Of  course,  Howard's  awfully  pleased.  He  wants  a 
girl,  but  I  want  a  boy." 

Frederica  was  silent  for  a  moment:  then,  very  gentle 
and  tender,  "I'm  awfully  glad,"  she  said,  and  squeezed 
Laura's  hand. 

Then  the  chatter  began  again,  and  Fred  looked  out  of 

260 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

the  window  at  the  snow  melting  on  slopes  that  faced  the 
sun. 

The  hall  in  Hazelton  where  the  strikers  were  awaiting 
Frederica  was  terribly  hot  and  stuffy,  and  packed  with 
women  crowding  so  closely  about  the  melon-shaped  iron 
stove  that  the  air  was  stifling  with  the  smell  of  scorching 
clothes.  It  occurred  to  Laura,  opening  a  window  surrep 
titiously,  that  the  girls  were  here  as  much  for  the  sake  of 
the  glowing  stove  as  for  the  chance  to  hear  Fred.  She 
watched  her  cousin  with  shrinking  admiration.  What  she 
said  did  not  particularly  interest  her,  but  Frederica's  in 
timacy  with  the  girls  made  her  wonder.  "She  touches 
them!"  Laura  thought,  with  a  quiver  of  disgust. 

When  Fred  had  made  her  speech — which  Laura  vocif 
erously  applauded — they  all  trooped  out  into  the  street, 
but  paused  while  Frederica  (Laura  skulking  behind  her) 
stood  in  the  doorway  for  a  further  harangue.  Unfortu 
nately — because  the  knot  of  listening  girls  obstructed  the 
sidewalk — a  police  officer,  shoving  them  out  of  the 
way,  happened  to  show  some  rudeness  to  a  little  Italian, 
who,  in  return,  jabbering  shrilly,  struck  at  the  man's 
patient  and  restraining  arm,  which  caused  him  to  gather 
her  two  delicate  wrists  in  one  big,  vise-like  hand,  and  hold 
her,  a  little,  kicking,  struggling  creature,  who  made  about 
as  much  impression  on  his  large  blue  bulk  as  a  sparrow 
might  make  upon  a  locomotive. 

"There,  now,  keep  quiet,  sissy,"  he  said,  wearily. 

But  Catalina  kicked  harder  than  ever,  and  the  officer 
'shook  her,  gently.  It  was  at  that  moment  that  Fred's 
eye  fell  upon  him. 

261 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I'll  stop  that!"  she  said,  between  shut  teeth. 

"Oh,  Fred,  don't  do  anything,"  Laura  entreated, — but 
Fred  was  at  the  man's  side. 

Her  anger  disconcerted  him.  "It's  against  the  law  to 
obstruct  the  sidewalk,"  he  explained. 

"I  had  no  hand  in  making  the  law,  and  therefore  I 
shall  not  obey  it!" 

"Better  can  that  talk,  and  keep  it  for  the  Court,"  said 
the  man,  beginning  to  get  red  in  the  face.  To  which  Fred- 
erica  retorted  by  telling  him  her  opinion  of  men  in  general 
and  policemen  in  particular. 

A  man  can  stand  kicks  from  little  feet,  but  "lip" — after 
a  certain  point  of  forbearance  has  been  reached,  is  another 
matter.  Fred  punctuated  her  remonstrances  by  putting 
an  abrupt  hand  on  his  arm,  and  instantly  there  was  an 
unseemly  scuffle,  in  which  Laura,  running  out  from  the 
shelter  of  the  doorway,  tried  to  draw  Fred  away.  The 
result  was  that  before  they  really  knew  what  had  hap 
pened,  the  little  Italian,  Miss  Frederica  Payton,  and  Mrs. 
Howard  Maitland  found  themselves  in  a  patrol-wagon 
rumbling  and  jouncing  along  over  the  icy  Belgian  blocks, 
a  taciturn  man  in  a  blue  coat  sitting  in  the  doorway  of 
the  van  to  prevent  any  possible  leap  to  liberty. 

The  whole  thing  was  so  sudden  that  the  cousins  were 
perfectly  bewildered.  Even  as  they  were  being  hustled 
into  the  wagon,  a  crowd  had  gathered,  springing  up,  ap 
parently,  out  of  the  ground.  There  had  been  a  sea  of  faces 
— good  natured,  amused,  unconcerned  faces;  a  medley  of 
voices,  jeering  and  hooting,  or  raucously  sympathetic;  a 
vision  of  the  striking  girls — for  whose  cause  they  were 

262 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

there! — forsaking  them,  melting  away,  fleeing  around 
corners  and  up  side-streets;  then,  the  jolting  along 
through  the  noon  emptiness  of  the  streets,  toward  the 
station-house. 

Frederica,  getting  her  breath,  after  the  suddenness  of  it 
all,  grew  very  much  excited.  She  scented  the  fray — the 
contest  between  man-made  laws  and  unconsulted  woman! 
It  occurred  to  her — though  Laura  said,  in  despairing 
tones,  "Oh,  Fred,  please  don't" — to  fling  some  suffrage 
literature  into  the  street  over  the  head  of  the  officer;  she 
did  it  until  he  told  her  to  "set  still,  you!"  At  which 
Catalina,  hearing  her  defender  reproved,  kicked  him, 
causing  him  to  turn  around  and  grab  her  ankle;  he  held 
it  in  one  great  paw,  and  whistled,  absently. 

Fred  was  furious.  "  Don't  touch  that  girl's  ankle!"  she 
said. 

"Shut  up,"  he  replied,  calmly;  and,  oblivious  of  both 
of  them,  still  holding  Catalina's  little  kicking  feet,  he  be 
gan  to  talk  over  his  shoulder  to  the  driver  of  the  van  about 
the  price  of  cucumbers.  "Here,  you!"  he  interrupted 
himself — "stop  biting,  sissy!  Gee!  this  chippy  has 
teeth — "  and  he  poked  Catalina,  playfully,  with  his  club. 
Frederica  whitened  with  rage,  but  Catalina  lapsed  sud 
denly  into  such  abject  fright  that  when  they  reached  their 
destination  she  had  to  be  lifted  out  of  the  wagon,  and 
pushed — not  too  gently — up  the  steps  into  the  station- 
house.  Laura,  who  got  out  next,  was  shaking  so  that  the 
officer  put  a  friendly  hand  under  her  elbow  to  assist  her. 
Frederica  followed  the  other  two,  her  head  high  with 
anger  and  interest. 

263 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

In  the  station-house,  the  receiving-room,  with  its  one 
dirt-incrusted  window,  was  dark,  even  at  one  o'clock — per 
haps  because,  shoulder-high  on  the  long-unwashed  paint, 
was  a  dado  of  grime  left  by  innumerable  cringing  backs. 
There  was  one  back  against  it  now;  a  drunken  man,  with 
wabbling  head  and  glassy,  half -shut  eyes,  was  whining  and 
sobbing,  and  trying  to  keep  on  his  legs.  When  the  ser 
geant  asked  his  name,  he  answered  by  a  hiccough  which 
the  officer,  as  indifferent  and  efficient  as  a  cog  in  some 
slowly  revolving  and  crushing  wheel,  translated  into 
"Thomas  Coney."  "Come,  stop  crying;  be  a  perfect 
gentleman,  Tommy,  be  a  perfect  gentleman!"  he  said, 
yawning.  And,  curiously  enough,  Tommy  straightened 
up  and  swallowed  his  sobs. 

"Look  at  him!"  Fred  whispered  to  Laura;  "he's  get 
ting  hold  of  himself!  I  suppose  that's  his  idea  of  a  perfect 
gentleman." 

Laura,  rigid  with  misery,  made  no  answer.  When 
Thomas  had  been  disposed  of — watched  by  Frederica's  in 
tent  eyes — she  and  Laura,  whose  knees  were  plainly  shak 
ing,  and  Catalina,  who  was  sobbing  and  calling  upon  God, 
lined  up  in  front  of  the  sergeant's  desk.  Frederica  an 
swered  the  usual  questions  with  brief  directness;  her  atti 
tude  toward  the  big,  bored  officer  was  distinctly  friendly 
and  confidential;  as  he  closed  the  blotter,  she  began  to  tell 
him  that  she  had  been  urging  the  girls  to  demand  the  bal — 
Before  she  could  finish  the  word,  she  found  herself,  to  her 
angry  amazement,  being  moved  along  toward  the  corridor. 

"But — stop!  I  have  not  finished.  And  I  want  to  tel 
ephone,  and— 

264 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"What  number?" 

Both  girls  spoke  at  once,  Frederica  giving  Mr.  Weston's 
number,  and  Laura,  stammering  with  apprehension  that 
Howard  might  not  go  directly  home  from  the  train, 
naming  her  own  house.  "Ask  Mr.  Weston  to  hunt  How 
ard  up,"  she  implored  her  cousin.  The  telephoning  was 
fruitless,  as  neither  gentleman  could  be  found. 

"You  can  try  'em  again  over  at  the  House  of  Deten 
tion,  ' '  the  man  said,  not  unkindly.  ' '  Move  on !  Move  on !' ' 

They  moved  on,  in  spite  of  themselves,  assisted  by  the 
impersonal  pressure  of  an  officer's  hand  on  Fred's  shoulder 
— Laura  shivering  all  over,  Fred's  face  red  with  displeasure 
at  the  affront  of  not  being  listened  to,  Catalina  perfectly 
happy  and  inclined  to  giggle. 

"You'll  make  Mr.  Weston  find  Howard?"  Laura  said, 
in  a  frantic  whisper,  as  they  walked  across  the  courtyard 
to  the  little  jail  back  of  the  station-house.  "Oh,  I  was 
going  to  meet  him, — and  I  am  here!" 

Fred  shrugged  her  shoulders:  "Why  did  you  come,  if 
you  mind  it  so  ?  (Married  women  are  awfully  poor  sports, ' ' 
she  thought.) 

"Do  you  think  I'd  funk  and  leave  you?"  Laura  re 
torted;  and  Fred's  face  softened. 

"Howard  will  be  so  upset — "  Laura  said,  quivering. 

"Nonsense!  He'll  see  the  fun  of  it,"  Fred  assured  her. 
In  matters  of  this  kind,  she  understood  Howard  better 
than  little  Lolly  ever  could.  .  .  . 

Her  face  was  glowing  with  excitement!  This  meant 
something  to  the  Cause!  An  old  phrase  ran  through  her 
mind,  "The  blood  of  the  martyrs  is  the  seed,"— "I  tell 
18  265 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

you  what,  Laura,"  she  said,  under  her  breath,  "this  ridic 
ulous  business  is  the  seed  of  a  big  thing;  it  has  given  me 
a  great  idea:  let  women  refuse  to  obey  the  laws,  until  they 
are  allowed  to  make  them!" 

"This  way,"  said  the  officer,  and  herded  them  into  the 
receiving-room  of  the  House  of  Detention.  The  next  few 
minutes  stung  even  Fred's  aplomb — they  were  searched! 
The  indignity  of  hands  passing  down  her  figure — hands 
not  rough,  not  unkind,  not  insulting,  merely  mechanical, 
— made  her  unreasonably,  but  quite  furiously,  angry. 
Laura  was  a  little  shocked,  but  her  dignity  was  simple 
and  unshaken.  Catalina,  her  dirty,  streaky  face  puffed 
with  crying,  laughed  loudly  with  amusement. 

"This  is  abominable!"  Fred  said,  her  voice  shaking. 
The  matron,  making  notes  on  a  pad,  paid  no  attention  to 
the  protest.  It  was  all  in  the  day's  work — human  wreck 
age  washed  up  out  of  the  gutter,  rose  in  this  bleak,  stone- 
lined  room  every  day;  rose,  flooded  into  the  surrounding 
cells,  where  it  vociferated,  wept,  pleaded,  stood  rigid  with 
fury  and  shame,  or  else  collapsed  into  sodden  slumber. 
Then,  by  and  by,  it  ebbed  away.  And  the  next  day,  and 
the  next,  the  same  drift  and  ruin  of  humanity  flooded  in 
and  drifted  out. 

After  further  telephoning  had  been  promised  by  the 
matron,  the  three  girls  were  placed  in  a  cell.  Catalina 
at  once  flung  herself  full  length  on  the  bench  that  ran 
along  two  sides  of  it;  Fred  sat  down  and  took  out  her 
note-book.  "  I  mustn't  forget  one  incident,"  she  told  her 
self.  The  experience  had  penetrated  below  the  theatrical 
consciousness  of  martyrdom,  and  roused  a  primitive  anger, 

266 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

not  for  herself,  or  the  other  two  (of  whom,  to  tell  the  truth, 
she  thought  very  little),  but  against  the  wastefulness  of  a 
system  which  permitted  this  wreckage  to  sweep  in  and 
sweep  out — unchecked,  unchanged,  over  and  over.  She 
saw,  as  she  had  never  seen  before,  the  righteousness  of 
woman's  demand  that  she  should  have  a  hand  in  the 
making  and  the  administering  of  Law.  She  was  impressed, 
not  so  much  by  the  injustice  of  leaving  the  punishment  of 
women  to  men,  as  by  the  irrationality  of  it. 

"  There  ought  to  have  been  a  woman  in  that  station- 
house,"  she  said;  "and  there  ought  to  be  women  police 
officers  and  judges.  Just  wait  till  we  get  the  vote,  Laura 
— we'll  stop  this  idiocy!  That's  what  it  is:  idiocy,  not 
justice," 

Laura  was  not  concerned  about  terms;  she  stood,  tense 
and  trembling,  gripping  the  iron  bars  of  the  door.  "  How 
ard  will  be  so  upset,  and  Father  will  be  dreadfully  angry!" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Fred  agreed,  carelessly,  "Uncle  William  will 
have  a  fit,  of  course.  But  I'll  bet  on  Howard!  Mother 
will  almost  die  of  it,  I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  her  face  sober 
ing;  "I'm  sorry  about  that.  But,  of  course,  Laura,  that's 
the  penalty  of  progress.  We — you  and  I  and  Howard — 
are  moving  the  world,  and  the  old  people  have  got  to  get 
out  of  the  way  or  get  run  over!" 

Laura  was  silent. 

"The  thing  that  hits  me  hardest,"  said  Frederica,  "is 
the  way  women  won't  stand  together.  Every  one  of  those 
girls  took  to  their  heels." 

"Oh,  when  will  Howard  come?"  said  Laura,  with  a 
sobbing  breath.  She  was  not  sorry  she  had  stood  by  Fred 

267 


THE   RISING   TIDE 

when  all  the  rest  of  them  "took  to  their  heels,"  only — 
"I'll  die  if  he  doesn't  come  soon!"  she  thought,  shaking 
very  much.  Once  she  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  Fred- 
erica,  who  was  straining  her  eyes  (the  cell  was  lighted  only 
from  the  hall)  over  her  note-book,  and  she  felt  a  faint 
thrill  of  admiration.  Imagine,  making  notes  at  such  a 
moment ! 

The  afternoon  passed;  hours — hours — hours. 

"Oh,  when  will  somebody  come?"  Laura  said,  in  a  whis 
per.  Frederica  had  put  up  her  note-book,  and  seemed  ab 
sorbed  in  thought.  Catalina  was  asleep. 

There  came  a  sound  of  voices  in  the  outer  court,  and 
again  Laura  clutched  at  the  iron  bars.  (She  had  been 
at  the  grating  ever  since  the  lock  was  turned  upon  them.) 

"It's  Howard!" 

Even  Fred  was  moved  to  stand  up  and  peer  out  into 
the  whitewashed  corridor — then  both  girls  shrank  back; 
a  drunken  negress  was  being  pulled  along  over  the  flag 
stones  of  the  passage  to  the  receiving-room;  a  few  min 
utes  later,  she  was  pulled  back  again,  and  they  heard  the 
clang  of  a  cell  door;  then  yells,  then  evidently  sickness; 
then  cries  upon  God  and  the  devil,  and  a  torrent  of  un 
speakably  vile  invective.  Even  Fred  quailed  before  it, 
and  Laura  clung  to  her  in  such  a  paroxysm  of  fear  that 
they  neither  of  them  heard  the  hurrying  feet  outside  on 
the  flagging — then  the  lock  was  flung  out,  and  Howard 
caught  his  wife  in  his  arms. 

"I  just  got  word,"  he  said,  hoarsely;  "Weston  caught 
me  at  the  club.  My  darling!" 

The  tears  were  in  his  eyes  and  his  face  was  as  white  as 

268 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Laura's.  Behind  him,  Arthur  Weston  looked  grimly  over 
his  head  at  Frederica. 

"  I  had  to  chase  him  all  around  town,"  he  said,  "or  we'd 
have  been  here  before.  And  it's  taken  time  to  bail  you 
out." 

" I'm  sorry  to  have  bothered  you,"  Fred  said;  "but  it's 
been  an  awfully  valuable  experience  to  Laura  and  me. 
/  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  anything!" 

The  matron,  faintly  interested,  was  standing  by  to  see 
the  end  of  it.  "Them  swells  will  learn  something,"  she 
whispered,  to  her  assistant;  "I  guess  that  thin  one  ain't 
bad.  I  thought  she  was.  Well,  good-by,  ma'am,"  she 
said,  listlessly;  and  went  back  to  work  on  a  piece  of  dingy 
embroidery  until  the  next  dumping  of  human  rubbish 
should  claim  her  attention. 

Out  in  the  courtyard  Frederica  made  a  little  delay. 
Where  was  Catalina  to  go?  What  was  she  to  do?  "Out' 
on  bail?  Does  that  mean  she's  got  to  come  back  here 
again?" 

"It  means  that  she's  got  to  report  at  the  municipal  crim 
inal  court,"  Mr.  Weston  instructed  her;  "and  so  have 
you  and  Laura,  unless  I  can  patch  things  up." 

"Good!"  Fred  said,  eagerly,  "I  wanted  to  know  the  end 
of  this  silly  business!" 

She  got  into  the  limousine,  where  Laura,  still  very  white, 
had  been  placed  by  Howard,  who  put  an  unabashed  arm 
about  her.  His  impatience  at  Fred's  delay  was  obvious. 

"Mr.  Weston!  for  the  Lord's  sake,  shut  her  up!"  he 
said,  angrily. 

Frederica,  sitting  down  beside  him,  gave  him  an  aston- 

269 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

ished  look.  "It  was  I  who  was  talking,  not  Catalina," 
she  explained;  "I  was  telling  her  what  to  do.  Of  course 
I  couldn't  go  away  and  leave  her  to  shift  for  herself. 
Howard,  this  has  been  a  great  experience!" 

Howard's  jaw  set:  "Laura,  dear,"  he  whispered,  "it's 
all  right.  Don't  shake  so,  Kitty!  It's  all  right.  Mr. 
Weston  will  fix  it  up  so  you  needn't  go  to  court." 

"You  see,"  Fred  began,  volubly,  "it  all  happened  be 
cause  of  the  policeman's  rudeness  to  that  poor  little 
Catalina;  Laura  and  I  had  to  protect  her,  and — " 

"Look  here" — Howard  turned  a  fierce  face  upon  her — 
"you  can  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  all  you  want  to,  but  I'll 
thank  you  not  to  drag  my  wife  into  your  damned  nonsense !" 

Frederica  stared  at  him,  open-mouthed. 

"Maitland,"  the  other  man  said,  gravely,  "I  am  sure 
you  will  apologize  for  that." 

Howard's  hand  clenched  over  his  little  Laura's;  he 
swallowed,  and  set  his  teeth.  "  If  I  have  been  rude,  I  apol 
ogize.  But  the  fact  remains;  Fred  ought  not  to  have 
dragged  Laura  into  any  such  disgusting  and  indecent 
business!" 

"Oh,  Howard!"  Laura  protested;  "she  didn't.  I  did 
it  myself.  It  wasn't  Fred's  fault." 

Frederica  was  silent,  but  Weston  saw  her  face  fall  into 
lines  of  haggard  amazement.  As  they  went  spinning 
along  back  to  town,  Howard  gave  himself  up  to  whisper 
ing  to  Laura.  Arthur  Weston  asked  one  or  two  questions, 
and  Frederica  told  him,  briefly,  just  what  had  caused 
the  disturbance  that  ended  in  the  "interesting  experi 
ence."  For  the  most  part  no  one  spoke. 

270 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

At  the  Maitland  house,  Howard  almost  lifted  his  little 
wife  out  of  the  car;  he  was  quivering  with  pain  at  her 
pain — at  the  thought  that  her  ears  had  heard  the  moans 
of  Life,  that  her  eyes  had  seen  its  filth  and  horror;  he 
was  so  angry  at  Frederica  that  he  could  not  trust  himself 
even  to  look  at  her.  Of  course  he  made  no  farewells.  He 
closed  the  door  of  the  limousine  with  a  bang,  and  said, 
through  the  open  window: 

"Mr.  Weston,do  anything,  anything!  so  that  Laura  won't 
be  dragged  into  it.  Any  amount  of  money,  of  course! 
And  the  newspapers — good  Lord!  Can  we  fix  them?" 

"I'll  see  what  can  be  done,"  Weston  said;  and  the  car 
spun  away. 

Frederica  turned  a  bewildered  face  upon  him.  She 
stammered  a  little : 

"He  didn't" — her  voice  fell  to  an  astonished  whisper — 
"understand." 

They  scarcely  spoke  until  they  reached  the  Payton 
house;  it  was  dusk  when  they  went  up  the  steps  together 
and  rung  the  front-door  bell.  ("I  am  coming  in  to  ex 
plain  things  to  your  mother,"  he  said,  quietly.)  But 
as  they  stood  waiting  for  the  door  to  be  opened,  Frederica, 
looking  at  him  with  miserable  eyes,  made  a  gesture  of 
finality. 

"I  never  knew  him"  she  said. 

As  they  heard  the  feet  of  the  parlor-maid  coming 
through  the  hall,  she  gripped  his  arm  with  her  trembling 
hand  i 

"Arthur,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper;  "just  think!  I  asked — 
I  asked  him  to  marry  me.  And  this  is  what  he  is!" 

271 


CHAPTER  XXV 

'"THE  whole  connection  seethed!  The  notoriety  of 
•*•  Flora's  death  was  nothing  compared  with  this  noto 
riety.  The  police  court!  The  newspapers!  The  gossip 
of  Mrs.  Childs's  Bridge  Club !  And,  on  top  of  everything 
else,  the  shock  to  Laura. 

"You  see,"  Mrs.  Pay  ton  explained  to  her  daughter, 
"she's  going  to  have  a  baby,  and — " 

"I  know,"  Fred  said,  soberly;  "she  told  me.  Of  course 
I  wouldn't  have  let  her  go,  if  I'd  known  there  was  going 
to  be  rough-house." 

"It's  absurd  to  blame  you,"  her  mother  said.  "As  I 
told  your  Aunt  Bessie,  'It's  absurd  to  blame  Freddy!' " 

"  I  don't  mind  being  blamed.  I  oughtn't  to  have  taken 
her,  anyhow.  She  doesn't  really  care  for  the  things  I  care 
for.  She's  entirely  under  Howard's  thumb,  poor  dear!" 

Mr.  William  Childs  was  almost  sick  with  anger,  and 
Mrs.  Childs,  with  her  calm  interest  in  other  people's 
troubles,  agreed  with  Miss  Mary  Graham,  who  said  that, 
of  course,  Miss  Freddy  meant  well;  but  sometimes  the 
brain  defect  didn't  show  at  once,  as  it  did  in  her  brother. 
"It  comes  on  when  they  are  about  twenty-five,"  said 
Miss  Mary. 

Mrs.  Childs  said  that  was  the  most  charitable  way  to 

272 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

look  at  it,  and — amiably  ready  to  tell  anything  to  any 
body — repeated  the  charitable  opinion  to  Mrs.  Payton. 

"What  did  the  older  one  say?"  Fred's  mother  asked, 
distractedly. 

Mrs.  Childs  hesitated:  "Nothing  very  sensible;  in 
deed,  I  don't  know  just  what  she  meant.  Something  out 
of  the  Bible — that  they  said  Christ  had  a  devil,  too. 
Quite  profane,  I  thought." 

"Fred  isn't  a  devil!"  Mrs.  Payton  said,  angrily,  her 
maternal  claws  ready  to  scratch  the  "older  one,"  whose 
protection  of  Frederica  was  understood  only  by  Arthur 
Weston,  who  loved  her  for  it,  but  warned  her  that  unless 
Bacon  was  the  author  of  the  phrase  she  had  quoted  it 
would  not  soothe  the  Childs  family. 

Certainly  it  did  not  soothe  Bobby  and  Payton,  who 
told  their  respective  wives  that  Freddy  ought  to  be  shut 
up!  "Allendale  is  the  place  for  her,"  Bob  said,  mention 
ing  a  well-known  insane-asylum.  They  told  their  brother- 
in-law  that  Laura  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself — which 
led  to  an  in-law  coolness  that  never  quite  thawed  out. 

"Of  course  I  don't  approve  of  it  any  more  than  you 
do,"  Howard  said.  "  If  I'd  been  at  home,  Laura  wouldn't 
have  gone  with  Fred.  Trouble  is,  she's  so  sweet-tempered 
she  does  whatever  anybody  wants — and  Fred  insisted,  you 
know.  And  when  Laura  was  there  she  felt  she  had  to 
stand  by  Fred—" 

"Stand  by  your  grandmother!"  Payton  Childs  retorted. 
"If  Fred  was  my  sister,  I'd  stand  by  her — with  a  whip!" 

"Well,  there'll  be  no  more  speechifying  in  ours"  Howard 
said,  grimly.  "But  I  won't  have  Laura  blamed.  What 

273 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

•she  did,  she  did  out  of  loyalty  to  Fred.  When  it  comes  to 
standing  by,  Laura  is  as  decent  as  a  man!" 

Miss  Spencer  was  of  the  opinion  that  Mrs.  Payton  had 
better  take  the  girl  to  Europe — "under  another  name, 
perhaps;  then  she  can't  disgrace  you.  After  all,  Ellen, 
I  believe  she's  just  like  Mortimore — only  she  doesn't 
jibber!" 

"Miss  Spencer!" 

"I  mean  that  though  she  has  intellect,  she — " 

"Morty  has  intellect!  Doctor  Davis  always  said  the 
intellect  was  there,  but  it  was  veiled!" 

"Fred  had  better  veil  something,"  Miss  Spencer  said, 
dryly.  "Her  face,  for  instance,  when  she  goes  to  jail." 

"It  wasn't  a  jail,"  Mrs.  Payton  protested,  whimper 
ingly. 

Mrs.  Holmes  had  her  opinion,  too;  all  Fred's  didos, 
she  said,  were  due  to  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Payton  had  not 
brought  her  up  properly.  She  said  this  just  as  she  was 
leaving  the  parlor,  teetering  along  on  her  high-heeled 
shoes ;  then  her  voice  suddenly  roughened ;  she  turned  and 
glared  at  her  daughter  through  her  white  veil. 

"The  amount  of  it  is,"  she  said,  "Fred  is  worth  all  the 
rest  of  us  put  together!  That's  why  we  are  so  provoked 
at  her.  We  know  we're  on  the  shelf,  and  useless  old  fools, 
every  one  of  us!  Especially  William  Childs." 

Mrs.  Payton  was  so  astounded  that  she  let  her  mother 
go  out  to  her  carriage  unattended.  But  the  words  were 
a  comfort  to  her,  for,  poor  woman,  she  was  struck  from 
every  side. 

As  for  Fred,  she  listened  listlessly  to  the  jangle  of  criti- 

274 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

cism,  looking  at  her  critics  with  curious  eyes.  How  silly 
they  all  were !  So  long  as  the  experience  of  being  arrested 
had  not  injured  Laura,  what  difference  did  it  make  ?  With 
her  conception  of  the  values  of  life,  the  momentary  un 
pleasantness  of  newspaper  notoriety  was  not  worth  think 
ing  of.  Fred  was  very  listless  now.  Something  had 
touched  the  garment  of  life,  and  energy  and  hope  had  gone 
out  of  it. 

She  ceased  to  be  young. 

The  rebuff  of  unaccepted  love  she  had  faced  gallantly; 
its  accompanying  knowledge  of  shame  and  pity  and  sym 
pathy,  had  only  steadied  her;  even  her  own  irrationality 
in  disliking  Laura  (she  had  recognized  with  chagrin  that 
dislike  was  irrational,  and  she  hated,  she  told  herself,  to  be 
an  idiot!) — all  these  emotional  experiences  had  merely 
deepened  and  humanized  her.  But  the  discovery  that  the 
Howard  Maitland  she  thought  she  knew,  had  never  lived, 
was  a  staggering  blow.  The  other  Howard — the  real 
Howard — honest,  sweet-hearted,  simple,  who  had  found 
her  conversation  no  end  amusing  and  interesting,  who  had 
been  a  patient  receptacle  for  her  opinions  and  an  amiable 
echo  of  her  volubility,  who  had  swallowed  many  yawns 
out  of  kindness  as  well  as  courtesy — the  Howard  beneath 
whose  charm  of  good  manners  lurked  the  primitive  fierce 
ness  of  the  male  who  protects  his  woman  at  any  cost, 
that  Howard  had  never  made  the  slightest  appeal  to  her. 
The  jar  of  stepping  down  from  the  ideal  man  to  the  real 
man  racked  her,  body  and  soul.  The  old  pain  of  not  being 
loved  had  ceased  as  suddenly  as  a  pulled  tooth  ceases  to 
ache.  The  new  pain  was  only  a  sense  of  nothingness. 

275 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

But,  curiously  enough,  it  was  then  that  the  old  affection 
for  Laura  began  to  flow  back.  "  Not  that  I  get  much  out 
of  her,"  she  thought,  dully ;  "dear  little  Lolly !  She  hasn't 
an  idea  beyond — him.  She's  a  perfect  slave  to  him.  Well ! 
I'm  glad  I'm  a  free  woman !  But  she's  a  dear  little  thing.'* 
The  soreness  had  all  gone;  she  loved  Lolly  again — as  one 
loves  a  kitten.  She  used  to  go  to  see  her,  and  look  at  the 
baby  clothes,  and  speculate  as  to  whether  it  would  be  a 
girl  or  a  boy.  The  softness,  and  silliness,  and  sweetness  of 
it  all  was  to  her  tired  mind  what  cushions  are  to  a  tired 
body. 

When  the  baby  was  born,  early  in  September,  the  last 
barrier  between  the  cousins  was  swept  away — but  Fred 
still  made  a  point  of  not  going  to  Laura's  house  at  an  hour 
when  she  was  likely  to  find  Howard  at  home.  Laura's 
husband  was  an  entire  stranger  to  her.  When,  by  acci 
dent,  she  did  meet  him,  she  used  to  say  to  herself,  wonder- 
ingly,  "How  could  I—?" 

All  summer  Frederica  went  regularly  to  her  office.  * '  But 
business  isn't  what  you'd  call  booming,"  she  told  Arthur 
Weston.  In  the  blind  fumbling  about  of  her  stunned  mind 
to  discover  a  reality,  he  was  the  one  person  to  whom  she 
turned.  His  calls  at  15  Payton  Street,  whenever  Fred 
was  in  town,  stirred  even  Mrs.  Payton  to  speculation — 
although  it  was  Miss  Carter  who  put  the  idea  into  her 
head: 

"He  always  conies  when  Miss  Freddy  is  here;  /  think 
he's  taken  with  her." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so !  There  is  nothing  I  should  like 

276 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

better,"  said  Mrs.  Payton,  sighing.  But  the  mere  hope 
of  such  a  thing  roused  her  to  ask  Mr.  Weston  to  dinner 
whenever  she  knew  that  Fred  was  coming  home  for  the 
night.  Miss  Graham,  getting  wind  of  those  dinners,  gave 
him,  one  day,  a  cousinly  thrust  in  the  ribs : 

"Tortoise!  I  do  really  believe  you  .have  some  sense, 
after  all!" 

"I  have  sense  enough  to  know  that  the  race  is  off  for 
the  tortoise,  when  the  hare  decides  not  to  run,"  he  said, 
dryly;  "but  that's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  dine  with 
Mrs.  Payton." 

Miss  Eliza  was  spending  the  summer  at  The  Laurels, 
and  she  had  Freddy  on  her  mind.  She  went  over  to  Lake- 
ville  to  see  her  several  times,  and  always,  with  elaborate 
carelessness,  said  something  in  Arthur  Weston's  favor. 
But  she  had  to  admit  that  Fred  was  blind  to  the  pursuit 
of  the  faithful  tortoise. 

"I  love  the  child,"  she  told  her  sister;  "but,  I  declare, 
I  could  spank  her!  Just  think  what  a  husband  dear 
Arthur  would  make!" 

"What  kind  of  a  wife  would  she  make?"  Miss  Mary  re 
torted.  "I  don't  think  she  would  insure  any  man's 
happiness." 

"The  pitiful  thing  about  her  is  that  she  has  aged  so," 
said  Miss  Graham. 

That  sense  of  lost  youth  touched  her  so  much  that  she 
was  quite  out  of  patience  with  dear  Arthur.  "Haven't 
you  any  heart?"  she  scolded.  "The  girl  is  unhappy! 
Carry  her  off,  and  make  her  happy." 

"I'm  too  old  to  turn  kidnapper,"  he  defended  himself. 

277 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"She  is  brooding  over  something,"  Miss  Eliza  said;  "it 
can't  be  because  that  foolish  young  man  took  her  cousin 
when  he  could  have  got  her?  She  has  too  much  backbone 
for  that!" 

Mr.  Weston  agreed  that  Fred  was  not  lacking  back 
bone,  but  he  could  not  deny  the  brooding.  So  it  came 
about  that  the  dear  old  matchmaker  was  moved,  one  day, 
to  go  to  Sunrise  Cottage  and  put  her  finger  in  the  pie. 
After  she  had  drunk  a  cup  of  tea,  and  listened  for  half  an 
hour  to  Fred's  ideas  as  to  how  Laura  should  bring  up 
the  baby,  and  the  "slavery  of  mothers" — "Lolly  hasn't 
time  to  read  a  line!"  Fred  said; — Miss  Eliza  suddenly 
touched  her  on  the  shoulder: 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "you've  got  to  live,  whether  you 
like  it  or  not.  Make  the  best  of  it !" 

Fred  gave  a  gasp  of  astonishment;  then  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  "How  did  you  know  I  didn't  like  living?" 

"Because  when  I  didn't,  I  was  just  as  careless  about 
my  back  hair  as  you  are." 

Involuntarily  Fred  put  her  hand  up  to  her  head.  "Is 
it  untidy?" 

"  It's  indifferent.  And  when  you  think  how  fond  Arthur 
is  of  you,  it's  very  selfish  in  you  not  to  look  as  pretty  as 
you  can." 

She  went  away  greatly  pleased  with  herself.  "It  will 
touch  her  vanity  to  think  he  likes  her  to  look  pretty; 
and  when  a  girl  tries  to  look  pretty  for  a  man,  the  next 
step  is  to  fall  in  love  with  him." 

Alas!  Fred's  vanity  was  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
flattered.  But  her  pride  had  felt  the  roweling  of  the  spur 

278 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

of  Truth.  She  must  brace  up — because  she  had  got  to 
live!  The  words  were  like  a  trumpet.  "I've  got  to  live 
— whether  I  like  it  or  not.  I  must  get  action  on  some 
thing,"  she  told  herself,  grimly. 

That  night  she  sat  down  on  the  little  stool  in  front  of 
her  fire,  and  stared  a  long  time  into  the  flames.  Yes,  she 
must  get  busy.  "I've  been  a  pig.  I've  had  a  grouch  on, 
just  because  I  didn't  get  a  stick  of  candy  when  I  wanted 
it — and  wouldn't  I  have  been  sick  of  my  candy  by  this 
time,  if  I'd  got  it!  How  can  Lolly  stand  him?  What  a 
fool  I  was."  .  .  .  Yes,  she  must  "get  busy";  why  not 
try  and  do  something  for  those  poor,  wretched  women 
who  are  sent  to  the  House  of  Detention?  What  she  had 
seen  and  heard  in  that  stone-lined  room  had  left  a  scar 
upon  her  mind.  "I'll  make  Arthur  tell  me  how  to  get 
at  them,"  she  thought.  Suddenly  she  remembered  Miss 
Eliza's  thrust:  "It's  selfish  in  you — when  he's  so  fond 
of  you." 

She  gave  a  little  start:  "Oh,  but  that's  impossible! 
That  sort  of  thing  is  over  for  him.  But  he's  my  best 
friend,"  she  told  herself. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IT  was  late  in  September,  when  she  asked  Arthur 
Western  to  tell  her  how  she  could  help  "those  awful 
women," — as  she  called  the  poor  creatures  she  had  seen 
in  jail.  He  had  motored  out  to  Lakeville  for  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  while  they  waited  for  the  kettle  to  boil,  they  wandered 
off  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  found  a  little  inlet 
walled  with  willows,  where  they  could  sit  on  the  beach  and 
see  nothing  but  the  wrinkling  flash  of  waves  and  a  serene 
stretch  of  sky.  They  sat  there,  talking  idly,  and  watching 
the  willow  leaves  turn  all  their  silvery  backs  to  a  hesitating 
breeze. 

Weston  listened  silently  to  her  plans  for  "getting  busy" 
with  prison  reform — when  she  suddenly  broke  off: 

"I  don't  see  that  the  vote  will  do  much." 

He  gave  her  an  astonished  look.  "What!  This  from 
your 

She  nodded.  "Of  course  I'm  for  suffrage,  first,  last,  and 
all  the  time!  But  I'm  sort  of  discouraged  about  what 
we  can  accomplish.  Life  is  so  big."  The  old  cocksureness 
was  gone.  The  pathos  of  common  sense  in  Freddy  made 
him  wince.  "But  I've  got  to  do  something,"  she  ended. 
"Miss  Eliza  told  me  I  was  selfish." 

280 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Look  here!  I  won't  let  Cousin  Eliza  call  you  names! 
I  reserve  that  for  myself." 

She  laughed.     "You've  done  it,  often  enough." 

Arthur  Weston  tickled  the  sleeping  Zip  and  whistled. 

"What  do  you  suppose  Laura  told  me  the  other  day?" 
Fred  said.  "She  said  that  'no  woman  really  knew  what 
life  meant  unless  she  had  a  baby.'  She  said  having  a 
baby  was  like  coming  out  of  prison — because  'self'  is 
a  prison.  Rather  tall  talk  for  little  Laura,  wasn't  it?" 

"Any  of  the  great  human  experiences  are  keys  to  our 
prison-house,"  he  said. 

"True  enough,"  she  agreed;  then,  abruptly,  her  own 
great  experience  spoke:  "Isn't  it  queer?  I  rather  dislike 
Howard." 

"It's  unreasonable.  He's  the  same  old  Howard — a 
mighty  decent  chap." 

"He's  not — what  I  supposed  he  was." 

"Well,  that's  your  fault,  not  his.  You  dressed  him  up 
in  your  ideas;  when  he  got  into  his  own  clothes,  you 
didn't  like  him.  Howard  never  pretended  to  be  any 
thing  he  wasn't." 

"Yes!  Yes,  he  did!"  she  said,  with  sudden  agitation. 
"He  used  to — listen  to  me." 

" Good  heavens,  don't  hold  that  up  against  him!  Don't 
I  listen  to  you?" 

"Oh,  but  you  never  let  me  think  you  agree  with  me! 
I  always  know  you  don't." 

"He  agrees  far  more  than  I  do." 

"No,"  she  said,  with  a  somber  look.  "He  just  let  me 
talk.  He  didn't  care.  The  things  that  were  real  to  me 
19  281 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

weren't  real  to  him.  His  real  things  were — what's  happen 
ing  now.  The  baby,  and  Laura.  Is  it  so  with  all  of  you? 
Don't  you  ever  care  with  your  minds?" 

He  stopped  tickling  Zip,  and  looked  out  over  the  lake 
with  narrowing  eyes;  after  a  while  he  said,  gently: 

"  I  think  the  caring  with  the  mind  comes  second.  When 
a  man  falls  in  love,  the  mind  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Sometimes  it  reinforces  the  heart,  so  to  speak ;  when  that 
happens,  you  have  the  perfect  marriage — which  isn't  aw 
fully  common.  It's  apt  to  be  just  the  heart;  which  gets 
pretty  dull  after  a  while.  But  just  the  head  is  arid." 

"He  would  have  found  just  my  head, — arid?"  she 
pondered. 

He  looked  straight  at  her,  and  said,  quietly:  "I  think 
he  would." 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"Was  it  head,  or  heart,  with  you?"  she  said. 

"It's  both,"  he  said. 

She  gave  him  a  puzzled  look:  "Why,  you  don't  mean 
that  you  care  for  that  horrid  Kate,  still?" 

He  smiled,  and  looked  off  over  the  water. 

"You  are  very  stupid,  Fred." 

She  was  plainly  perplexed.    "I  don't  understand?" 

"That's  why  I  say  you  are  stupid." 

His  face  was  turned  away  from  her;  he  was  breaking 
a  dead  twig  into  inch-long  pieces,  and  carefully  arranging 
them  in  a  precise  fagot  on  his  knee;  she  saw,  with  a 
little  shock  of  surprise,  that  his  fingers  were  trembling. 

"Why,  Arthur  i"%he  began, — and  stopped  short,  the  color 
rising  slowly  to  her  forehead.  He  gave  her  a  quick  look. 

282 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Why!"  she  said  again,  faintly,  "you  don't  mean — ?• 
you're  not — ?" 

He  laughed,  opening  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  amused 
and  hopeless  assent.  "I  am,"  he  said,  and  flung  the  tiny 
fagot  out  on  the  water. 

Fred  dropped  her  chin  on  her  fists  and  watched  the 
twigs  dancing  off  over  the  waves.  They  were  both  silent ; 
then  she  said,  frowning,  and  pausing  a  little  between  her 
words  as  if  trying  to  take  in  their  full  meaning: —  "You 
are  in  love  with  me." 

"Has  it  just  struck  you?" 

"How  could  it  strike  me — that  you  would  care  for  a 
girl  like  me!" 

"Considering  your  intelligence,  you  are  astonishingly 
obtuse,  at  times.  I  couldn't  care  for  any  other  kind  of 
girl.  Or  for  any  girl,  except  you!" 

"  Miss  Eliza  said  something  that  made  me  wonder  if  ... 
But  I  couldn't  believe  it.  I  thought  that  sort  of  thing  was 
over  for  you.  I  never  dreamed  of — " 

"Oh,  well!  don't  dream  of  it  now.  Of  course  it  doesn't 
make  a  particle  of  difference.  I  didn't  mean  to  speak  of 
it;  it  sort  of  broke  loose,"  he  ended,  in  rueful  confession. 

Fred  was  silent. 

Arthur  Weston,  hiding  the  tremor  that  was  tingling  all 
through  him,  began  to  talk  easily,  of  anything — Zip,  the 
weather,  whether  Miss  Carter  could  be  induced  to  recon 
sider  her  annual  resignation;  "It  would  be  very  hard  on 
Mrs.  Payton  to  lose  her,"  he  said. 

"Well,"  Frederica  said,  slowly,  "I  don't  see  any  reason 
why  I  shouldn't  marry  you." 

283 


THE    RISING    TIDE 

He  caught  his  breath;  then  struck  his  hand  on  hers. 

"You're  a  good  sport!  I  take  back  my  accusation  that 
you  weren't.  I  could  name  several  reasons  why  you 
shouldn't  marry  me." 

"Name  them." 

"Fred,  look  here;  this  is  a  serious  business  with  me.  I 
can't  talk  about  it." 

1 '  I  want  to  talk  about  it.   I'd  like  to  know  your  reasons. ' ' 

"To  begin  with— age." 

She  nodded.  "In  years  you  are  older.  But  I'm  not 
young  any  more." 

The  water  stung  in  his  eyes;  she  was  right — she  was 
not  " young"  now.  "The  next  reason,"  he  went  on,  with 
out  looking  at  her,  "is  that  you  are  not  in  love  with  me." 

She  thought  that  over:  "But  I  am  fond  of  you." 

"That  won't  do  for  marriage." 

"It's  more  than  just  fondness  with  you?"  she  asked, 
doubtfully. 

He  caught  her  hand,  kissed  it,  and  flung  it  from  him. 
"Come!"  he  said,  harshly,  "let's  go  home!"  He  rose,  but 
she  did  not  move. 

"Do  you  love  me?"  she  insisted,  looking  up  at  him. 

He  was  silent.  When  he  spoke  his  voice  was  rough  with 
suffering.  "I  love  you  as  much  ...  as  I  can.  But  it's 
not  worth  the  taking.  I  know  that.  I  wouldn't  ask  you 
to  take  it.  You  ought  to  have — fire  and  gold!  I  spent 
my  gold  ten  years  ago;  and  the  fire  burned  itself  out. 
Don't  talk  about  it.  I  feel  like  lead,  sometimes,  com 
pared  with  you.  But  I'm  not  adamant." 

She  got  on  her  feet,  and  stood  looking  out  over  the 

284 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

lake.  For  a  long  while  neither  of  them  spoke.  Then  she 
said:  "Arthur,  I'm  not  in  love  with  anybody  else.  I 
can't  imagine,  now,  how  I  ever  thought  I  was!" 

"You  will  be  in  love  with  somebody  else  one  of  these 
days." 

She  shook  her  head.  "No;  that's  all  over.  There  is 
no  fire  and  gold  in  me,  either.  Something — was  killed,, 
I  think." 

"  It  will  come  to  life." 

She  gave  a  little  gasp:  "No.  It's  dead.  But  what  is, 
left  is — well,  it  isn't  bad,  what's  left.  Sometimes,"  she 
said,  with  sudden  sweet  gaiety,  "sometimes  I  think  it's, 
better  than  what  Howard  and  Laura  have!" 

"No,  it  isn't,"  he  said,  sadly. 

"I  wonder,"  she  pondered,  "if  I  could  have  been  .  .  . 
like  Laura?  She  hasn't  a  thought  except  for  the  baby 
and  Howard.  They  are  the  center  of  Life  to  her ; — which 
is  all  right,  I  suppose.  But  they  are  it's  circumference,, 
too;  which  seems  to  me  dreadfully  cramping.  I  never 
could  be  like  that." 

He  smiled,  in  spite  of  himself.  "Nature  is  a  pretty 
big  thing,  Fred;  when  you  hold  your  own  child  in  your 
arms — "  he  stopped  short.  "  Life  is  bigger  than  theories," 
he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

She  nodded:  "I  know  what  you  mean.  But  I  never 
could  be  a  fool,  Arthur." 

"I  think,"  he  said,  and  again  something  in  his  voice 
made  her  catch  her  breath;  "I  think  you  could  be, — at 
moments." 

"Better  not  count  on  it,"  she  said;  "but  if  you  want 

285 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

me,  in  spite  of  my  'arid'  head, — you  can  take  me!  Of 
course,  just  for  a  minute,  when  I  wrung  it  from  you  that 
you — cared,  I  was  rather  stunned,  because  I  didn't  believe 
Miss  Eliza  knew.  But  on  the  whole,  I  think — I'd  like  it." 
She  smiled  at  him,  and  her  eyes  brimmed  with  affection. 
' '  You  see,  we're  friends ;  and  you  never  bore  me.  Howard 
would  have  bored  me  awfully.  So — I  will  marry  you, 
Arthur." 

He  was  silent.  "Rather  hard,"  she  said,  mischievously, 
"to  have  to  offer  myself  tw — " 

"Stop!"  he  said;    "don't  say  things  like  that!" 

"Well,  then — "  she  began;  but  he  lifted  a  silencing 
hand: 

"My  dear,  my  dear,  I  love  you  too  much  to  marry 
you/' 

"Why,  then,"  she  said,  simply  "you  love  me,  it  seems 
to  me,  enough  to  marry  me.  Don't  you  see?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  hungry  eyes.  "I  think  I  am 
man  enough  to  save  you  from  myself,"  he  said;  "but 
don't — don't  tempt  me  too  far!"  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THAT  was  in  September.  It  was  the  first  of  December 
when  Howard  Maitland  came  leaping  up-stairs,  two 
steps  at  a  time,  and  burst  into  the  nursery,  so  chock-full 
of  news  that  he  could  hardly  wait  to  see  the  way  Betty's 
toes  would  grip  your  finger  if  you  put  it  on  the  sole  of 
her  pink  foot. 

"Who  do  you  suppose  is  engaged?" 

"Jack  McKnight,"  Laura  said;  "Howard,  kiss  her 
little  neck,  right  under  her  ear." 

He  kissed  it,  and  said,  "No!  Not  McKnight.  You 
wouldn't  guess  in  a  hundred  years!" 

"Well,  then,  you'd  better  tell  me.  See,  Father,  she's 
smiling !  Howard,  I  think  she's  really  a  very  distinguished- 
looking  baby;  don't  you?" 

"She  looks  like  her  ma,  so  of  course  she  is!  " 

"Nonsense!  She's  the  image  of  you.  What  do  you 
think?  When  I  went  down  to  luncheon,  Sarah  says  she 
turned  her  head  right  around  to  watch  me  go  out  of  the 
room." 

"Gosh!  She'll  be  reading  Browning  next !  Laura — why 
don't  you  rise  about  the  engagement?  You'll  scream 
when  I  tell  you." 

"Well,  tell  me." 

287 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"Fred  Payton  and—" 

"What!" 

"Hold  on.  I've  not  begun  to  holler  yet.  And — old 
Weston." 

"What!" 

"I  thought  you'd  sit  up." 

"Howard !    I  don't  believe  it." 

"It's  true.  I  met  Mrs.  Payton,  and  she  told  me.  She 
kept  me  standing  on  the  corner  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
while  she  explained  that  she  was  going  to  do  up  her 
Christmas  presents  now,  so  she  could  get  the  house  in 
order  for  the  wedding.  It's  to  be  in  January.  The  en 
gagement  comes  out  to-morrow.  It's  been  cooking  since 
September,  but  they  didn't  really  tie  up  until  last  week. 
I'm  pledged  to  secrecy,  but  your  Aunt  Nelly  said  I  could 
tell  you." 

"I  never  was  so  astonished  in  my  life!"  Laura  gasped. 

"I  was — surprised,  myself,"  Howard  said. 

"Well,"  said  Laura,  "I'm  glad  poor  old  Fred  is  going  to 
be  married — but  how  can  she!  Of  course  I  know  he's 
been  gone  on  her  for  ages;  but  I  don't  see  how  he  dared 
to  propose  to  her — he's  old  enough  to  be  her  father! 
Maybe  she  took  pity  on  him  and  proposed  to  him," 
Laura  declared,  giggling. 

"The  baby  has  a  double  chin,"  her  husband  said,  hur 
riedly. 

"Fred  converted  him  to  suffrage  last  summer,"  Laura 
said;  "that  showed  which  way  the  Wind  was  blowing." 

Howard  stopped  tickling  his  daughter's  neck,  and 
frowned,  as  if  trying  to  remember  something.  "Weston 

288 


'THE    RISING   TIDE 

a  suffragist?  That's  interesting!  Leighton — you  remem 
ber? — the  man  who  went  to  the  Philippines  with  me?" 

Laura  nodded  abstractedly. 

"Well,  he  said  that  if  a  man  was  a  suffragist  it  was 
because  he  was  either  in  the  cradle  or  the  grave.  He  said 
the  man  of  affairs  was  bored  to  extinction  by  the  whole 
hullabaloo  business.  He  considered  me  in  the  cradle;  so 
I  suppose  he'd  say  that  Westort — " 

"Mr.  Weston  may  be  in  the  grave,  but  you're  not  in 
the  cradle,"  Laura  interrupted,  affronted;  "you  are  the 
father  of  a  family!" 

"Well,  to  be  candid,  I'm  not  crazy  about  suffrage," 
Howard  confessed,  and  was  pummeled  by  his  baby's  fists, 
carefully  directed  by  the  maternal  hand. 

"I'm  ashamed  of  you!  Betty  and  I  are  going  to  walk 
in  the  parade,  and  you  shall  carry  a  banner." 

"Thanks  so  much;  I  fear  business  will  call  me  to  Phila 
delphia  that  day.  Too  bad !" 

"Freddy  and  Mr.  Weston!"  Laura  repeated;  "well, 
I  don't  understand  it!" 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  her  husband.  He  walked  over  to 
the  window  and  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
looking  out  into  the  rain ;  behind  him  he  heard  the  nursery 
door  open,  and  Laura's  contented  voice : 

"No,  Sarah,  I  don't  need  you.  I'm  going  to  put  her  to 
bed  myself.  You  go  down  and  have  your  supper.  Just 
put  her  little  nightie  on  the  fender  before  you  go,  so  it 
will  be  nice  and  warm."  Then  the  door  closed  again,  and 
he  could  hear  Laura  mumbling  in  the  baby's  neck: 

"Sweety!  Mother  loves!  Put  little  hanny  into  the 

289 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

sleeve.  .  .  .  Oh,  Howard,  look  at  her!  Did  you  ever  see 
anything  so  killing?  Howard,  just  think!  Fred  told  me 
once  that  she  was  going  to  have  a  trained  nurse  for  her 
children.  Well,  she'll  know  better  when  she  has  'em! 
Ooo-oo — sweety! — don't  pull  mother's  hair!"  The  firelit 
warmth,  the  little  night-gown  scorching  on  the  fender, 
Laura  in  the  low  chair,  his  child's  head  on  her  breast — 
the  young  man,  staring  out  into  the  rain  and  darkness, 
felt  something  tighten  in  his  throat.  Life  was  so  perfect ! 
There,  behind  him,  by  the  hearth,  in  warm  security,  were 
his  two  Treasures — to  be  cared  for,  and  guarded,  and 
made  happy.  He  lived  only  to  stand  between  them  and 
Fate.  His  very  flesh  and  blood  were  theirs!  " I  wouldn't 
let  the  wind  blow  on  them!"  he  thought,  fiercely.  But 
Fred  Payton  wouldn't  let  anybody  stand  between  her 
and  the  gales  of  life.  He  couldn't  imagine  Arthur  Weston 
protecting  Fred.  Imagine  any  man  trying  to  take  care 
of  Fred!  "She'd  be  taking  care  of  him,  the  first  thing 
he'd  know!  Still,  I  take  off  my  hat  to  her,  every  time. 
She's  big." 

Down  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  was  a  queer  uneasiness: 
he  was  not  "big,"  himself;  "  I  am  satisfied  just  to  be  happy; 
Fred  wants  something  more  than  that.  She's  more  worth 
while  than  I  am,"  he  thought,  humbly.  He  turned  and 
looked  at  the  two  by  the  fire,  then  came  over,  and,  kneel 
ing  down,  took  his  World  into  his  arms. 

"Oh,  Laura!"  he  said;  he  rested  his  head  on  his  wife's 
shoulder,  and  felt  the  baby's  silky  hair  against  his  lips. 
"Laura,  how  perfect  life  is !  I'm  so  happy,  I'm  frightened! 
— and  I  don't  deserve  it.  Fred  Payton  is  worth  six  of  me." 

290 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

Laura  gave  a  little  squeal.  "As  if  any  girl  was  as  good 
as  you!  Besides,  poor,  dear  Freddy — nobody  appreciates 
her  more  than  I  do,  but  Howard,  you  know  perfectly  well 
that  she  is — I  mean  she  isn't — I  mean,  well,  you  know? 
Poor  Fred,  she's  perfectly  fine,  but  nobody  except  some 
body  like  Mr.  Weston  would  want  to  marry  her,  because 
she  is  awfully  bossy.  And  a  man  doesn't  like  a  bossy 
woman,  now  does  he?" 

"You  bet  he  doesn't!"  Howard  said.  "But  I  take  my 
hat  off  to  Fred." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  Laura. 

"Thank  God,  she's  got  a  man  to  keep  her  in  order!" 
said  Mr.  William  Childs. 

"What  shall  we  give  her  for  a  wedding-present?"  Mrs. 
Childs  ruminated. 

"Give  Weston  a  switch!"  said  Billy-boy. 

"I  shall  miss  her  terribly,"  said  Mrs.  Payton;  "I  don't 
know  how  I'm  going  to  get  along  without  her."  Her  lip 
trembled  and  she  looked  at  her  mother,  who  was  running 
a  furtive,  white-gloved  finger  across  Mr.  Andrew  Payton's 
marble  toga.  "Oh,  yes;  it  isn't  dusted,"  Mrs.  Payton 
sighed;  "you  can't  get  servants  to  dust  anything  now 
adays." 

"Fred  will  make  'em  dust!"  Mrs.  Holmes  said,  with  sat 
isfaction.  "All  Fred  needs  is  to  be  married.  Miss 
Eliza  Graham  told  me  that  she  had  gumption.  I  said 
he  had  gumption,  to  get  her!" 

291 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

"I  wonder  if  he  knows  about  her  affair  with  Laura's 
husband,"  Miss  Spencer  ruminated.  "Some  one  ought 
to  tell  him,  just  out  of  kindness."  (And  the  very  next 
day  an  anonymous  letter  did  tell  him,  for  which  he  was 
duly  grateful.) 

"  I  hope  she  will  make  you  happy,"  Miss  Mary  Graham 
told  her  cousin,  sighing. 

"Well,  Arthur  will  make  her  happy,"  Miss  Eliza  said, 
decidedly;  "and  that's  what  he  cares  about!  As  for  her 
making  him  happy,  it  will  be  his  own  fault  if  she  doesn't. 
She'll  interest  you,  Arthur — that's  what  a  man  like  you 
wants." 

"I'm  to  be  'amused,'  am  I?"  Arthur  Weston  said, 
grimly.  "But  suppose  I  don't  'amuse'  her?"  And  as 
the  older  sister  went  out  to  the  door  with  him  to  say 
good-by,  he  added:  "Am  I  a  thief?  Of  course,  I've  got 
the  best  of  the  bargain." 

She  did  not  contradict  him.  "I  think,"  she  said,  her 
face  full  of  pain  and  pity,  "that  Fred  has  got  the  very  best 
bargain  that,  being  Fred,  she  could  possibly  get." 

"No!"  he  said,  "you're  wrong!  But  pray  God  she 
never  finds  it  out." 

He  did  not  mean  to  let  her  find  it  out ! 

But  that  afternoon  when  he  went  into  No.  15  for  his 
tea  and  for  a  chance  to  look  at  Frederica,  and  tease  her, 
and  feel  her  frank  arm  over  his  shoulder,  he  was  very  silent. 

They  were  in  the  sitting-room,  Mrs.  Payton  having  tact 
fully  withdrawn  to  the  entry  outside  of  Morty's  room. 
"When  I  was  a  young  lady,"  she  told  Miss  Carter,  "I 

292 


THE    RISING   TIDE 

used  to  receive  Mr.  Payton  in  the  back  parlor,  and  Mama 
always  sat  in  the  front  parlor.  But  Mama  was  very  old- 
fashioned — /  believe  in  the  new  ideas!  And  then,  after 
all,  Mr.  Weston  is  so  much  older  than  Freddy — oh,  dear 
me !  What  a  blessing  it  was  to  have  him  fall  in  love  with 
her!" 

"Mother  is  going  round,"  Fred  told  her  lover,  as  she 
handed  him  his  tea,  "saying,  'Now  lettest  thou  thy  ser 
vant  .  .  .  !'  She's  so  ecstatic  over  our  engagement." 

"I'm  rather  ecstatic  myself,"  he  said;  "Fred — I  am  a 
highway  robber." 

"Be  still!"  she  said;  and  gave  him  another  lump  of 
sugar. 

"I  love  you,"  he  said.  "But  you — no,  it  isn't  fair;  it 
isn't  fair." 

She  took  his  teacup  from  him  and  snuggled  down  be 
side  him;  "  I'm  satisfied,"  she  said. 

The  sense  of  her  content  stabbed  him.  She  ought  to 
have  so  much  more  than  content.  He  had  told  her  so 
often  enough,  in  those  two  months  of  standing  out  against 
his  own  heart;  he  told  her  so  when,  at  last,  he  yielded. 
But  when  he  said  it  now,  she  would  not  listen.  "I  tell 
you, I'm  satisfied !"  She  dropped  her  head  on  his  shoulder, 
and  hummed  a  little  to  herself. 

How  was  a  man  to  break  through  such  content ! 

"But  I  will!"  he  told  himself. 


THE   END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 


JAN  25  1938 


JAN  26   193 


OCTOS1992 


ecu  5*92 


TO 


8 


U.C  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


\ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


